


Harry Potter and the Spoonful of Sugar

by madasahatter (gaytriangle)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Mary Poppins (Movies), Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry isn’t raised by Dursleys, BAMF Mary Poppins, Canon Typical Violence, Canon compliant child abuse, Creature Inheritance, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), LGBT characters, LGBTQ Characters, POC Hermione, PoC Harry, Pureblood Society, Queer Characters, Redemption, Rita Skeeter as a threat, Wandlore, Wizard Court, Wizard Law, You just wait, aka DUELLING, also apparently the correct tag is, at some point, desi harry, glad that worked out eventually, i will redeem everyone eventually, just in case it wasn’t clear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 31,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytriangle/pseuds/madasahatter
Summary: Mary Poppins was a strong witch. An old witch. A witch who’s primary goal, always, was to help the children.She was never going to stand for any child, especially Harry Potter, being left in a house without love.(Work tags are always one chapter ahead of the story)





	1. The one where Mary has a problem

Mary Poppins was bored. That was always dangerous for her, but even worse, she was restless. Her fingers drummed on the handle of her umbrella, Henry, who was too busy trying to inspect the scene outside to even scold her. The world had gone mad. 

She had been in England almost all of her very long life, but never had she heard something so preposterous as the news from today. Firstly, it was delivered by perfectly ordinary post owls. While quaint, she couldn’t understand why they hadn’t been equipped with some sort of disillusionment. She might flaunt her magic, but even she knew how to cast a damn memory charm. 

The second thing that was sending her soul straight to the bottom of her carpet bag and making her umbrella arm twitch was the idea that this whole blasted war had been ended by a child. What nonsense! She had known thousands of bright children, but none could survive a killing curse unless they had been blessed by old magics, hidden magics, the kind of magics little Lily Evans would find utterly horrifying. 

She had quite liked Lily, when she had visited Manchester not so long ago. She was certainly better than either of her two companions. Severus, even then, had far too much anger to be soothed with a spoonful of sugar. Petunia had a nasty habit of glaring at Mary’s back when she thought it was turned, finding fault in every piece of wonder she created. Lily had her flaws like any child, but she was not afraid to grow. 

Albus Dumbledore was afraid to grow. He was afraid of anything that didn’t fall strictly within his power, to be precise. Mary often wished that she had been called to the Dumbledore household all those years ago, but there were too many little ones on the continent that needed a guiding light. By the time she felt that tug of a child in need, it was too late for any of them. She gave Arianna a few moments of wonder, but she couldn’t give back the magic. 

“We simply can’t let that happen again, can we, Henry?” Her dear parrot squawked quite loudly, loud enough to set several of the owls aflight. She made sure to apologise as she herself rose into the air. It was time to do what she always did: she needed to find new her charge.


	2. The one where Mary solves the problem

Of course, things were never that simple. She couldn’t drop everything for Harry’s sake, even if she wished to. First, she had to finish her duties in the Weasley household. It took longer than she expected for the boys to develop the sort of loyalty to each other that they would need in life. She took the time to nip certain unfortunate rivalries and prejudices in the bud, too. Anti-slytherin, how ridiculous! Still, by the time she was ready to search for Harry, he had been hidden for almost three months. 

She and Henry landed on Petunias front step one snow-covered morning, only a few days after the Yule celebration was over. The house looked cheery, but before she even had time to rap her knuckles on the door she had a sinking sensation in her gut. Something was wrong here. A quick glance at Henry confirmed her suspicions: the magical umbrella was hiding, as close to true wood as he could get. She needed her charge out of here. 

The door was opened by Petunia Evans after a short delay, who hadn’t grown in to her unfortunate looks. The slack jawed staring didn’t help her either. “Mary?” She whispered. 

Mary pursed her lips. Evans’ son was perched on her hip, eyes narrowed and glaring at the woman on the doorstep. Petunia had a bottle for him in her apron. Only one. “Indeed. I come when I’m needed, and I can see I’m needed here.”

Petunias mouth snapped shut, and her nostrils flared. Her son began to cry. Mary produced a charmed pacifier from her carpet bag, which began to sing. Petunia was turning purple as she stepped over the front porch. “I taught you to invite people in, did I not?”

“You are not wanted here, Mary Poppins!” Her voice was quickly turning into a shriek. 

“Let me in and shut the door, Petunia, or your neighbours will see you yelling at an old woman who didn’t leave any footprints in the snow.” Mary didn’t need to shriek. Her voice was as perfectly calm as ever, but Petunia had been on the wrong side of the nanny before, and had no wish to relive it. Mary nodded sharply when she was finally allowed in, and put Henry in the umbrella stand. 

The place was worse than she’d feared. Despite the pile of luxurious gifts under the tree, all but one very small one were labelled Dudley, which she took to be the rather malicious name given to the babe happily playing with her musical pacifier. There was only one highchair, and no other bottles prepared than the one Petunia was trying to feed her son. “Where is Lily’s son, Petunia?” 

Mary watched the woman start to shake. She was beginning to doubt that this woman was capable of caring for even her own child. “The freak is under the stairs. Take him! Take him, and never darken our door again,” she began, but with a flick of Marys wand she found herself unable to utter a sound. 

“Say nothing, if you have nothing kind to say, Petunia. I find myself disappointed in you.” Mary strode out of the room with that cutting remark, pointedly ignoring the wounded look on her ex-charges face. She had someone more important to look after. 

When she opened the cupboard door, she saw him sitting there, simply staring at the ceiling. His own magic had reproduced what was quite clearly an old mobile of Lily’s creation, but otherwise, all he had was his crib. Mary’s knuckles whitened on her wand, but she smiled. “Hello, Harry. I’m a friend of your Mother. Would you like to come with me?”

The boy blinked. The magic stayed in place for a couple more seconds before dispersing. He was a strong child, then, not yet broken by this place. Good. He reached his tiny little hands up to her, muttering Mama. Mary let his fingers wrap around her own much paler ones and produced a sling from her carpet bag. “In that case, I’m your Auntie Mary, Harry. Let’s bring you home.”

Another flick of her wand brought Henry and her pacifier back to her, and caused the bag to levitate behind her. At the doorway, she turned to Petunia for the final time. She was pale, paler still with her rapidly reddening son starting to wail from under her left arm. “Will I ever see you again?” She whispered. 

Mary’s face hardened. “For your sake, you should hope not.” Harry giggled, the door slammed, and just like that they were floating away.


	3. The one where Harry is the sweetest of children

Mary, for all her prowess with older children, hadn’t dealt with one so painfully young in almost her entire career. Still, anyone was better for Harry than Petunia. That girl had never truly grown up. 

Mary had never lived in one place for very long, but it was important for children to grow up stable. As such, she spent a few hundred galleons on a cottage for her charge to call home. It became the most well warded building in Britain before she dared to set him down inside, but Harry didn’t mind. 

Harry never seemed to mind anything, really. Although Mary went out of her way to keep him happy yet down to earth, she had expected at least some amount of resistance. Yet it appeared that only three months in his aunts care had cured him of the typical childhood tantrums that could be expected of any healthy young one. He could sit for hours without any entertainment or company. Not that he was ever left alone, far from it: Mary involved him, as much as she could, in everything she did. 

Harry loved their little house. He had picked the red colour of his nursery walls himself, as he was of course a “big boy, and big boys help!” He was more of a hindrance than anything else, but a welcome one, and the walls didn’t suffer for a bit of chipped paint here and there. He gave his best efforts in helping knead the bread, and giggled his way through the bath after so happily that Mary almost let it burn. He would follow her around the little garden, begging to know the names of every single flower. He had quite an eager little green thumb. 

(Mary gave him his favourite stuffed toy and went inside to cry when he told her he loved the Lily’s best. He noticed anyway, and sat on her knee patting her cheeks until she smiled back at him.)

On the very odd time he was feeling pernickety, Mary’s carpet bag produced an endless stream of soft toys and large print books for his enjoyment. His favourites were a small stag, and a tiny swan, both of which he brought with him on numerous play dates. One of the first things Mary looked into, once he was settled, was a family whose silence could be trusted to watch Harry on days she could not. Children do not grow up alone. More than that, the guardian angel of generations would never drop her duties because one child needed her more often than most. By that February, Harry had been introduced to the little Weasley brood. It went much more successfully than Mary expected. 

Molly Prewetts children were not as well behaved as Mary’s usual charges, but they were all gentle with Harry. He became rapidly close to Percy, who quite enjoyed a captive audience to read to, and with Fred and George. The twins hadn’t much accidental magic, but they were generally able to produce the sort of flashing lights that were endlessly amusing to little ones. 

Whenever he became restless, it was Ron and the two eldest Weasleys Harry sought out. The two eldest would take a little brother each onto their broom, and play a very slow paced version of Quidditch. Neither pair was particularly good nor was it very safe, but it made Harry laugh more readily than anything else Mary could find, so she cast a shield charm and turned a blind eye. 

After every game, he would come tottering back with a gap toothed grin and sit on Mary’s lap. He would tell “Godmomma Poppin” about the score, or about how they had accidentally disturbed some garden gnomes but he had apologised properly, or about how the wind ruffling his hair felt. The first thing Harry had ever asked for, grabbing her hands tight and looking up from beneath an absolutely horrendous birds nest of curls, was a broom. 

(The first thing she had ever bought him, truly bought him, was a toy quidditch broom. He beamed up at her through that tangled mess of black curls even she couldn’t fully control, and she felt her heart melt. 

She bought a matching one for Ron. )

Mary was finding herself rapidly becoming infatuated with her newest charge. As spring bled into summer, she realised that she had mostly been sticking to short, easy tasks, appearing to help young Wizarding children who could be trusted with Harry. This wouldn’t do. Mary had made a promise, long ago, to look after whoever she could. That included Harry, yes, but it included her other children too. That was when she reached out to Minerva McGonagall, for a return on the help she had so often given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did adorable children justice. I wonder why Mary is consulting Minerva... guesses? Critique? Comments make my day \/


	4. The one where Minerva is absolutely exhausted with this nanny

Minerva couldn’t say she was surprised, per se, when she opened her office door to find a parrot umbrella clutching a letter in perfect cursive. She could say that she was apprehensive. 

The thing was, almost everything that had to do with Mary Poppins was vastly more complicated than Minerva McGonagall was prepared to deal with a ten in the morning on a Sunday. Even her damn umbrella was more complex magic than Minerva had ever seen, and she used it as a door knocker! The bird winked as that thought passed through, before ruffling its feathers and opening its beak to pipe up with a thoroughly horrendous cockney accent. “Scuse me, but you could you read that letter now? Your chairs are mighty uncomfortable.” 

Minerva had the distinct sensation that she had never woken up that morning, even as she picked open Poppins’ personal seal and unfurled the letter. 

_Dear Minerva,_

_I find myself in a spot of bother with my latest charge that only someone I trust wholeheartedly may resolve. I have come to you seeking magic that I know you possess, and I hope you will grant it to me once you’ve seen the child who needs it. Henry will bring you with haste; Albus, even more than usual, can wait._

_Your faithful nanny,  
M. P. _

‘Merlin damn her’, thought Minerva, before grabbing on to the strange umbrella and finding herself floating away. 

She landed on the inside of a network of wards so thick that she could barely see the sky through them. Standing there, not looking a day older than she had when she had cared for Minerva as a young child, was the woman of the hour. “What on this bleeding earth have you done now, Mary?”

She chuckled. It was not the first time Minerva doubted her sanity, nor would it be the last. “Albus has you searching for the Boy Who Lived. You will not find him until he is eleven years old, when he will be happy and healthy and loved, and attending Hogwarts.”

Minervas jaw dropped. To anyone that knew the nanny, what she must’ve done was glaringly obvious. “Mary, you did not steal a child. Even you can only get away with so much.” Mary laughed, leading Minerva inside and starting a pot of tea before she deigned to respond. 

“Perish the thought! I asked both his aunt and him, and both agreed I was the sensible choice to raise him.” The nanny had her shoulders squared like she was ready to go off to war. Perhaps she was; after all, Minerva McGonagall was a strong witch with a strong distaste for kidnapping. Yet she didn’t turn around until she had finished the pot, and even then, voice was quiet and even. “I could hardly leave him with Petunia.” 

Minerva sagged against her chair, the wind out of her sails. Petunia? No, no, she could never raise a wizard right. Maybe Mary wasn’t an ideal choice either, but she was no Petunia. Mary laughed again, and Minerva had the embarrassing realisation she had been speaking aloud in her horror. 

“I’ll take the compliment where I can get it, Minerva, but I need your help.” For once, there was no twinkle in Mary’s eye, and though her hands were steady as she poured, her shoulders drooped. It was strange to see her so young and so, so old in the same moment. “There are not enough hours in the day for me to care for him and my other children. I need more time, and you are the only person I know that would give it.”

Minerva was aware she had a fierce reputation, but she had never felt less so. “You want me to go against Albus, give you ministry property that is only barely legal for me to have, and help you hide a stolen child?” 

Mary nodded. Minerva sighed. “May I meet him first?”

The twinkle was very much back in the nanny’s eyes as she fetched the boy. He had grown quite a bit since Minerva had last seen him, and he was chirping as Mary perched him on her knee. “This is your fathers friend, Harry. Could you say hello to Aunt Minnie?”

Like any charge of Mary Poppins, Harry dutifully stuck out his hand and carefully uttered a hello with his name. His big cheesy grin was what sold Minerva, though. She took the toddler and carefully bounced him on her aging knee, before saying “fine. I’ll get you your blasted time turner. But I get to see my nephew on Sundays.”

Mary smiled as she agreed to the deal, but it didn’t seem to reach those determined eyes.


	5. The one where Draco does not understand

The time turner arrived in an unmarked brown bag tied in a tartan ribbon later that week, and did much to soothe Mary’s soul. 

She loved Harry dearly, like she hadn’t truly loved anyone in quite a long time, but she couldn’t quite settle down when she wasn’t working. Everytime she walked into the house, her sneakoscope whirled and whistled overhead. Harry quite liked to stare at it when he couldn’t sleep. Mary didn’t have the heart to tell him that it spun each time she was needed somewhere that wasn’t his side. 

With Minervas allegiance secured, their little life was practically perfect in every way. Harry spent most of the week with Mary, save Tuesdays with Aunt Molly and Sundays with Aunt Minnie. The professor was absolutely certain that he was going to grow into a Gryffindor, while the mother was betting on Ravenclaw for the simple reason that even she couldn’t listen to Percy read for as long as Harry could. Mary left them to it. She had more important things than worrying about where her godson slept in a few years. If he was safe, it was fine by her. 

She let time pass like this for a few years. Harry was too young to remember birthday parties at barely two, but her wallet wasn’t, and she hadn’t yet gotten Gringotts to accept her as guardian without the key. She didn’t have that, and she didn’t want to speak with the man who did. Albus Dumbledore should remain ignorant of Harry’s new home for as long as possible. 

She was only really bothered by his lack of proper company. Molly Prewett was lovely, but Mary wanted some variety in his life, the freedom to make friends that weren’t all one unit. Mary’s charges were wonderful, but very few were witches and wizards of a similar age. He was too young to hide his magic with muggle friends. When Harry was four, she turned to an old charge with a son of the same age. She had been raised with a healthy suspicion of Dumbledore, and the ministry had a healthy suspicion of her. 

That Spring, she brought the Boy-Who-Lived into the house of Narcissa Black. “Lady Poppins, a pleasure. Draco dear, say hello!”

Draco did not say hello. Draco stared at Harry. Harry did not stare at Draco. He held out his hand and made a decent attempt at a bow instead, grinning at the smaller boy. “Hello! I’m Harry. I like your garden.”

Draco opened his mouth then, and very slowly, replied “I know who you are. I’m Draco. Did you see the birds?”

Harry looked up at Mary, who nodded, then took Draco by the arm. “No! You have to show me, Dwaco!”

Draco looked alarmed at the extremely energetic boy. He had grown up with pureblooded manners, and this was anything but. But he was being dragged to the gardens, and it was even worse manners to stop and remove the arm around his, so he obligingly trailed behind. It seemed fun, anyway, and what was his other option? Mother and Lady Poppins were discussing something in low, tense voices, so he was clearly not invited today. 

When Harry caught sight of the pale birds, his grin covered his whole face. “They’re bigger than Mary’s!”

Draco stared dubiously. They were pygmy peacocks, after all. “They’re trained. You can pet them.”

Harry shot him an excited look, then tried to approach the bird. Unfortunately, he was horrifically loud, so it simply flew away. The orphan looked remarkably confused, looking at his new friend. “They’re not trained well, Dwaco.”

Draco huffed. “That’s not my name.”

Harry tilted his head. “Yes it is! Dwaco!”  
“Draco. Draaaco.”  
“Dwaco.”

Draco, frustrated, made to shove the other child. Instead of being upset, like the people Goyle or Crabbe shoved, he looked positively delighted. This was what he saw George and Fred do! He made to shove Draco back, and the pair ended up mock wrestling into Narcissas chrysanthemums. “You hit mums ‘mums!”

Harry stopped moving, and sat back up. He was huffing a little. “I think we both did, Dwaco.”

Draco huffed, but still smiled. This boy was _weird_. “Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m slowing down to a chapter every couple of days, so I have time to work on the ones ahead. Any particular little ones you want Harry to meet?
> 
> Next week: Hermione Jean Granger knows, in the bottom of her heart, that there is something weird with Harry and Mary.


	6. The one where Hermione is perplexed

Hermione Jean Granger was absolutely certain that there was something wrong with Harry’s Godmother. It was a bone deep, instinctive thing, telling her that this woman was not just a kindly thirty something looking after a friends child. No, something mysterious was happening here, and she was going to find out what. 

For a start, they never seemed to come from anywhere nearby. Hermione never saw them leave the park with the cherry trees that she visited so often, or enter. Some days they weren’t there at all. Hermione took that as a good enough reason to mark off ghosts as a possibility on her list of reasons for them being so absolutely not ordinary, but it was still a long list. She decided to enlist the help of Harry. 

“Harry, do you think Miss Mary is a little bit strange some times?” She asked, one windy afternoon when the boy was helping mend her kite. 

He furrowed his brow, thinking quite deeply for a moment, before shaking his head. “She’s quite strange all the time, Mione. That’s her way of being normal.”

Hermione glanced at the nanny, who seemed to be in deep conversation with a songbird perched on her finger, before shaking her head so violently that the beads on her braids rattled as they bounced off one another. “I’ve never seen something less normal in all my life!”

Harry seemed bothered, for a minute, as Hermione took the deep calming breathes her father always said was a good way for little detectives to stay calm. A good sleuth couldn’t let such little things as her emotions slow her quest to finish the case! That was not something her father said, but she figured it was what he meant. 

By the time this train of thought derailed, Harry was pulling her across the park and had snatched Miss Mary’s umbrella. That was the rudest thing Hermione had ever seen him do! He had done it for her benefit, though. Did that make it better or worse? Either way, Harry planted the top spike in the earth and gestured to the parrot on the handle. 

It was a very well carved parrot, Hermione could say that. Not a feather out of place. It’s eyes were very realistic, crinkled at the edges, and moving just slightly upwards to accommodate its beak when he- spoke? “Oh ‘Arry, now you’ve gone and done it. You ain’t supposed to tell the Muggles bout magic, or Mary, or any of this. She won’t be ‘appy with us.” 

Hermione heard, very distantly, Harry telling the bird that it was _his_ fault for waking up, anyway, and that he was just trying to help Hermione. She made an excuse- bathroom, she thought- and strode straight down Cherry Tree Lane, past the gates, to her own front door, and into her living room. Both of her parents looked up at her as she entered, flushed. “I think Harry is being raised by a witch.”

Of course, they didn’t believe her. It was the struggle of a genius to not be appreciated in their time. The fact that Harry, Mary, and umbrella had all vanished when they returned to the park was a sign that Hermione had let her imagination run wild, not that they had magically disappeared again. Her insistence warranted nothing more than the usual “even Sherlock Holmes needed proof, Watson,” lecture, and an early bedtime. But Hermione was determined.

The following morning, she went straight to her little bookshelf, to see if she could find any books on witches or umbrellas or birds with bad cockney accents. Unfortunately, her mother was feeling ill that morning, so instead she and little Hermione watched an old VHS tape together. It was there that Hermione found her biggest clue: the identity of Mary Poppins. 

Sure, Harrys Mary was a little shorter, and perhaps a little chubbier. She didn’t possess quite the same unearthly grace and charm as the girl on the screen. But the umbrella was the same, beyond a doubt, and even the prop carpet bag seemed similar to Miss Marys own one. She had a hypothesis, and now she needed to test it.

Hermione Granger was many things, but not a fool. Her parents had already refused to admit Mary was a witch; that she was the same witch from an old children’s film would be beyond preposterous. She had seen detective films, though, and she knew what she needed: a confession. 

That afternoon, Hermione tucked her rather conspicuous braids up into a black knit cap her mother had made while on bedrest. She walked back to the park and found, as usual, that Mary and Harry were sitting on the benches in the quiet corner. Harry was quite cheerful, running over to her and immediately chattering about how Mary said Hermione could come to his house for tea. Hermione thanked him with her best manners, but then turned to Mary. 

“Excuse me, Miss Mary, but I think you’re a witch.” 

Mary just stared at Hermione, one corner of her lip twitching just barely upwards. “Is that so, Miss Granger. What would you do if I was?”

Hermione blinked. That wasn’t the reaction she had expected. “I’d bring you to my parents, and once they’ve heard you say it, to the police. A confession is very important, and it has to be heard by adults.” 

“Well,” said Mary Poppins, standing up and reaching into her carpet bag. Her arm went far deeper than it should, as more evidence. Almost up to her shoulder! Hermione scrambled to stare under the bench, and made eye contact with the umbrella on the other side again, who winked. The nanny emerged holding an incredibly large hat with a small red flower, and a slightly smaller one for Harry. “I think it’s time we speak to your parents, then.” 

When Hermiones mum opened the door, she took three steps back looking at the picture in front of her. It was a very strange picture. Mary Poppins, living and breathing and holding the hands of her own daughter who was bouncing up and down so hard that her beanie had fallen off, and a little boy who looked to be Indian with sharp green eyes, holding the hat she had made and smiling in a very bemused manner. But Doctor Emma Granger was very used to strange things happening in her home, so when she unfroze, she let them in. “Hermione, dear, are these your- your new friend Harry and his guardian?”

Julie Andrews’ clone sat down on the Granger couch and produced a steaming cup of tea from her carpet bag, which she offered to Emma. She accepted. What else was there to do? 

“Sit down, Hermione. Doctor Granger,” she began, in the clipped English tones that no one had spoken in for at least fifty years. She was interrupted. 

“Please, call me Emma.” This woman was something else, but seemed to be so in the same way her own daughter was. Certainly, nothing but magic could force Hermione to sit still so peacefully as her mother spoke to the woman she had accused of witchcraft. 

“Doctor Emma, I am a nanny. This boy is my charge, and your daughter is too, as an underage witch born of muggle parents. You have noticed strange happenings with little Hermione, haven’t you?”

Little Hermiones eyes were almost falling out of her head as her mother nodded. “Since she was a baby. You can help? And you won’t take her away?” 

“Only if it was necessary. I can see that it isn’t.” Mary’s eyes glanced towards Harry as she spoke that, and wasn’t that interesting? Hermiones mum nodded again, seemingly considering the offer, and this time the girl couldn’t contain herself. 

“But this is all mad! Mum- mum, this has to be a trick. Even if she is a witch, you can’t just give me to some lady just because she looks like Mary Poppins! What would dad think?” Hermione managed to stand up at this point, rushing over to her mum, who took Hermiones hands in her bonier ones and tried to soothe the child. It was not necessary. 

While the Grangers were distracted, Mary stuck her arm once more into the carpet bag. This time it produced a long, thin piece of wood. “I do not look like Mary Poppins. That is simply my name. Harry doesn’t look like a Harry, and you do not look like a Hermione, but that is who you are. Take this, if you doubt yourself, but do not doubt me.”

Hermione picked up the twig, half considering throwing it in the fire, but then the strangest thing of all happened. She felt tingles move all the way up her arm, like she had just sunk it into a bath of icy water. Her arm jerked instinctively. The cup of tea that had been in its path froze, instantly, into ice, with beautiful and impossible swirls on top. 

While she stared at it, Mary took the wand- for it had to be a wand, hadn’t it?- back, and shook it twice. Hermiones ice solidified into a tiny otter, which swam through the air to land on her shoulder. “I think the kneazle hair core might be interfering with your magic. My apologies. Hermione, you are a witch. A powerful witch, and one that I want to help and to stay friends with my godson. Is that what you want too?”

Hermione hesitated. She could feel her mother’s bony hands giving a comforting squeeze to her own, and the tiny ice sculpture sitting in her hair, unmelting, almost breathing. She could see Harry staring at it, a mixture of glee and awe on his face, with a hint of surprise and nothing Hermione recognised as jealousy. She could see Mary Poppins smile as she whispered yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working out a schedule for this! Major shout out to the comments for giving me the will to keep going :) this chapter got extended, rather than two separate chapters, because I realised it was incredibly short and the next one up is a similar length to these two together. Apologies for confusion. 
> 
> Next week: Mary gets an emergency call to the manor of a certain nervous lion. (I’ve added some character tags already for your enjoyment)


	7. The one where the Longbottoms have a bad time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to check out the last Hermione chapter if you missed the end of it!

One midnight, shortly before Harry’s eleventh birthday, he was woken up by a shake of the shoulder. This was quite unusual, even for the Poppins house. Mary valued sleep, and Harry and his stag and his swan were always tucked up by eight sharp. When he rolled over, he found Mary, fully dressed, clutching her carpet bag and his jacket. 

“Harry, wake up, would you? I have to make an emergency call. Molly is sleeping, so you’ll have to come with me.” Her eyes were cold, much colder than he had ever seen before, and her lips were held in a very firm line as if she was sucking on an invisible lemon. He should tell that to Hermione, she could add it to her list of theories on Why Mary is Strange. “This will not take long.”

Before Harry had time enough to wonder what emergency meant, exactly, he had the sensation of being shoved through a very tight pipe. The other side was a manor, as big as Dracos, but with a distinctly run down appearance. This was not a place for peacocks or racing through a maze, most definitely. It looked like something out of one of Percy’s history books. 

Mary knelt down, after sharply tapping on the door. “Harry, I will ask you to stay quiet. Don’t talk to the adults, only the boy. And have this.” She pressed a cereal bar into his hand. “Breakfast is always the most important meal of the day.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that he was, say, fairly sure that it was well before breakfast time, but at that moment the door opened and there stood the oldest, most adult looking woman he had seen in his life. Including Aunt Minnie. She, too, was dressed for a walk in the park, down to the stuffed vulture on her hat. Only her slippers betrayed that she was recently roused from bed. They matched Harry’s. 

“Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying,” the Lady said, and tried to slam the door in Mary’s face. She stuck Henry through the gap, and the parrot squawked. “Blimey Mary, give an old bird some warning!”

That made the lady blink. She went rapidly pale, eyes flicking between Mary and Harry. “Mary? The nanny, Mary whats-her-name?”

Mary nodded, and pushed open the door the rest of the way as the old woman stood still. Harry wanted to nudge her, to see if she’d fall over, but he doubted that’s what Mary would have wanted. He wasn’t really sure what she wanted here, but it probably wasn’t to play dominos with slightly rude old women. He followed his godmother up the stairs, to a small bedroom on the right. There were magical stickers on the door, faded flowers swaying in an imaginary breeze. It didn’t match the raised voices from inside.

There was a young boy, maybe Harry’s age, but paler, and shorter. He was sitting on the wrong side of the windowsill, shaking with tears. That was dangerous. Did he not realise? The man in the room definitely had, he was trying to reach the boy. He was being held back by an elf, who looked much closer to tears than any elf Harry knew belonging to Lady Malfoy. (Lord Malfoy, maybe).

Mary cleared her throat. The boy and the elf turned to look at her with matched expressions of confusion. The man used the distraction to dart towards the window. “Algernon Longbottom?”

The frenzied man- Algernon, apparently- stopped an inch from the boys collar. He glared at Mary over his shoulder. “Don’t know who you think you are, ma’am, but this is my house, and my nephew, and I’ll do what needs doing!” 

The boy let out another shaking sob, then, as Mary grabbed Algernons sleeve. Her wand was tucked in her hair, still, and she made no move to grab it. Her other hand squeezed Harry’s, and he took the opportunity to move towards the window. If he wanted to hear Mary threaten people, he would just wait for Miss Skeeter to try and break the house wards again. 

“Hello. I’m Harry. Do you like sitting on windows?”

The boy shook his head, frantically. Harry helped him in, and they sat on the bed. Algernons eyes were so wide Harry was a little worried they’d fall out of his skull, and he tried to shout again, but Mary dragged him into the hall by his ear and began to speak in that deathly quiet tone she had used when Fred turned Ron’s bear into a spider. 

“My name- my name- I’m Neville,” said the boy at last. He was staring something fierce at Harry’s forehead. He rubbed it absentmindedly, and they sat in silence until Neville managed to control his tears. Then he asked, “Arent you Harry Potter? Why are you in my bedroom?”

“That’s my name. I’m in your bedroom,” said Harry, “because you needed a really good nanny, and mine is the best. She gave me a breakfast bar before we came in. Want to share?”

The boy stared somemore at the oatcake in Harry’s hand. He clearly needed the breakfast, Harry thought, because his thoughts were coming quite slowly. He had enough time to hear more yelling from the corridor (‘-f there’s a squib in my house, I won’t have it! A disgrace on Franks legacy, he would be so-‘) before the blonde gathered his thoughts. His voice was small. “They think I don’t have magic.”

“Well, even if you didn’t, is that a big problem?” Harry quite liked Hermiones mum, who was only magical in the sense that she made great cookies. He thought Neville could do with a meeting with Doctor Granger, as the younger boy jumped like he had just bit into a livewire. 

“I’m from a noble house! I need magic! You’re nobility too, right? Shouldn’t you know this?” Harry thought, then shook his head. 

“Why would I need to know nonsense? You can have fun without magic. Auntie Minnie says so all the time.” Neville’s dubious expression when he sighed was quite similar to Dracos, and Ron’s. It was the expression they all had when Harry said something that matched Mary’s rules, but not theirs. 

“Well,” said Neville, over the distant sound of ‘-that is your nephew and you are honour bound to cherish him no matter what, you ignorant-‘ from the corridor. “I quite like Herbology. Gran says it’s not a good subject for war heroes sons, though.” He seemed thoroughly sad at being a war heroes son. Harry couldn’t really relate, because he didn’t mind living with Mary and spending his days with Aunt Minnie or Aunt Molly or Aunt Lady-Malfoy. 

“I only know Muggle plants. Could you tell me about the cool magical ones?” Neville immediately brightened at Harry’s question, which was sort of the point. He didn’t care for lectures on plants or dragons or peacock feather maintenance, but his friends quite liked to talk about them, and he could sit and chew his bar and listen very well. He figured that Neville was going to be his friend now too, judging by the still ongoing shrieking from the hall (‘-Mungos refused to test his core, saying it might damage him, as if that sort of damage hurt any of us, the nerve-‘). Mary probably wouldn’t adopt him, but he’d definitely be seeing Neville on days out with his other friends. 

He was almost correct. 

The hallway fell suddenly silent, and Mary re-emerged adjusting her gloves. Her hair had almost fallen down in the time she was outside, but she took the two boys by the hand. “Back home, Harry. Neville, you’ll be spending the night with us.”

“He will not!” The Lady from the door now stood by the landing, shaking with rage and pointing her ornate pear wand into Mary’s chest. “You don’t know how to raise the heir to a noble house! You haven’t even given Harry lessons, much less my Neville!”

“I have no intension of keeping Neville, unless he refuses to come back.” Mary didn’t move one inch as Neville began to tremble and Harry started to believe that there was something wrong in this house. 

“I’m giving you time to remove Algernon. Neville will be visiting me every week, to spend time with Harry. I think he’d like to help Molly, Harry and I garden.” Neville brightened at that. 

His grandmother paled. Then she began to chuckle. “You won’t take my grandson away! I’ve called some old friends.”

It was weird. Harry had lived with his godmother for almost all his life, but this was the first time there was something on her face that could almost be called fear. “Who did you call, Augusta?”

Augusta Longbottom had a smile like a shark that has just smelled fresh blood. “Albus Dumbledore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s ready for a FIGHT I’m taking bets on which one of them gets decked (ft. my sweet summer son, Neville, and some p subtle foreshadowing)


	8. The one where Albus is perfectly sane, thank you very much.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, for the first time in almost ten years, felt truly content in his life as Augusta Longbottom shrieked through his floo about ‘that crazy Poppins girl’. She had finally made her move to capture the rest of Wizarding Britain’s heirs, then. When he realised Harry was no longer living with Petunia, he had been admittedly flummoxed. There were very few people with the will to defy him that would know about Lily Evans’ muggle sister, after all. 

And then he remembered. Evans, after all, had often spoken of how magical her childhood was with that damned nanny. It seemed like wherever Albus turned, that woman was standing in his way. Ever since Ariana- well, that wasn’t the point, was it? The point was that this time, he had won. 

He arrived to Longbottom manner to see his greatest enemy and his greatest loss holding hands outside the front door. Harry looked so much like his father. Hopefully, he hadn’t inherited his mothers trust of this jumped up governess along with her eyes. He was holding Poppins’ arm so tight that Albus could see the marks, which didn’t bode well. No time like the present to separate the two, then. 

“Mrs Poppins! Harry, my dear boy! It has been quite awhile, hasn’t it?” Harry looked to Mary, silently curious. She hadn’t told him about his true guardian then. Albus could use that. 

“Albus. You look... older,” Poppins said, then turned to Harry. She didn’t change her clipped tones when speaking to him. What idiocy! The child was not yet even of Hogwarts age, after all, and should hardly be spoken to as an adult. She continued, “I looked after Albus’ siblings, when he was very small. He looks quite different since then, but his mind hasn’t aged a day.”

Albus tightened his fingers around the elder wand, and was aiming at her throat before his mind could catch up to his wounded pride. The plump child that must be little Neville gave a slightly terrified laugh. Augusta raised what looked like her sons wand, although it shook quite severely. Mary was tapping her cedar against her skirts, lips pinched together. “I’m a nanny, Albus. That is not a crime.”

“ _Stupefy,_ ” whispered Albus. Mary flicked the cedar, and a silver shield rippling like water materialised over the three of them. The spell dissipated into an explosion of sparks. 

Albus adjusted his hat and stared at the witch over his glasses. He made sure his eyes were twinkling. The boys would need to trust him once this unfortunate event was finished. “The crime is kidnapping, Mary. You stole Harry Potter, and were found in the process of stealing Neville Longbottom. As Chief Mugwump-“ 

“I am not giving up my godson. It’s perfectly legal for ministry employees to protect children in need,” she said. Merlin, she was idiotic. 

“You are not a ministry employee, Mrs Poppins.”  
“I am, actually. As of 1708, and until my death. And as far as I’m aware, my name is still Ms Poppins. Do you mind, Albus? It’s rather late for growing boys.”  
“You will not be removing them from this property, by the authority of the minister and my own.”

Mary smiled. She dispelled her shields. Albus immediately went for another _stupefy_ , and if it was an _imperious_ instead, who would know? Still, she dodged, and fired back with a curse that had him doubling over and spitting out feathers. Harry grabbed Neville’s hand and that damned umbrella, the pair floating up into a second shield charm. Did Poppins have the place surrounded? No, surely not, or she wouldn’t be standing there bold as brass with Augusta Longbottoms wand at her heart. 

“You can’t take away my boy,” said the grandmother, in a voice barely more than a whisper. “He’s all I have.”

Mary pushed the wand away gently. She softened her severe features in a crystal clear attempt to manipulate the old woman. Unfortunately, it worked. “Get rid of Algernon and you can see him in the afternoons. When he’s ready, not before, he’ll be back. He will attend lessons with Harry from now until Hogwarts, in any case.”

Albus tried a non verbal _incarcerous_ as a last resort, but the curse was shaking him too fiercely to make the correct movements. It had to be one of her own. Mary looked at him exactly like she had when Albus was a naughty child spending too much time with Gellert Grindelwald. “You will see my child again when he is eleven. I’ll remove the spell then, if I feel your behaviour has improved.”

She didn’t hit him with another spell. She didn’t need too. She, too, floated upwards after her charges. She had someone to meet, after all, the one and only man she’d trust with her boys. And if she, privately, had a tiny laugh to herself at the sound of Albus Dumbledore cursing her name through still-erupting feathers?

Well, no one needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit less violent than the comment section seemed to want, but that feather curse is going to hang around for awhile. If you want to know exactly what it is, check out my other story in this fandom. It’s Luna centric. She’ll be coming into this story before first year, don’t fear. 
> 
>  
> 
> I’m now taking opinions on the alternate house sortings for any character you guys have an opinion on, btw. And guesses on who Marys mysterious helper is!


	9. The one where Neville is content for once in his life

Neville’s day had rapidly gone from quite possibly his worse to quite probably his best day ever. 

He had almost given up on ever getting his magic, on ever getting free from Grans stern declarations that this was in his best interest. Or that odd shine to Uncle Algies eyes when he looked at Neville’s prized very much Muggle gardening shears. That was just how it was for him. For as long as he could remember, Gran was loving in a distant way. He had found the photos in old boxes with only shaky repelling charms, he knew he looked just like his dad. He knew why she was as strict with her grandson as she was with reporters and the followers of You-Know-Who, but it didn’t make it fun. 

He wasn’t sure today could be described as fun, but he knew it was different and thought it was better. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, was standing next to him on Neville’s roof wearing pinstriped pyjamas. Uncle Algie had told Neville, more than once, that Harry was what he could’ve been if he was only a bit stronger. Neville had been prepared to dislike the boy, to have to fight him when they got older, but Harry was just nice. Unconditionally so, in a way that none of Grans friends or Algies acquaintances ever seemed to be. And Harry brought with him more variety than Neville had seen in all his eight and a half years. Like his nanny. 

Mary was a whisper, at those pureblood parties Neville hated, (his Gran always looked so proud when he said he would go, so he had been to many. Most of the time, he would sit by one of the walls and listen to the fancy accents and try not to look bored.) Most of the old families had some relative she had deemed worthy of help, but it was a hotly contested piece of debate on why she did it. _Remember her house, though,_ was often whispered. Neville wasn’t sure why exactly where she lived was so important, but he did know she was meant to be _powerful, powerful enough even the ministry left her alone._

As Neville continued the rambling trains of thought often found among lonely children, Mary herself appeared over the lip of the roof. “Bar a few ruffled feathers, no one is worse for wear. Excellent.”

She seemed so sure of herself, but she wasn’t quite meeting the eyes of the other man. The one that had pulled Harry and Neville out of the reach of all those spells that made Neville’s teeth sting. He was leaning against his odd looking broom without a care in the world. “Reckon you three need a place to lay low for a night. My hidey-‘oles are always open to friends of Miz Poppins, if you please.”

His funny little bow made Mary laugh a little behind her white gloves, almost unwillingly. “You haven’t aged an inch, have you, Bert?”

He tipped his cap and leant down to the children. “She’s one to talk, ain’t she boys? But she’s a good sort, and I’m one of ‘er best ‘elpers. You’ll be fine with us anywhere in the world!”

He jumped back to his feet in a movement so quick it made Neville blink, and offered his hand to Mary. Just as quick, she was grasping the two boys. Neville thought it seemed like a perfectly polite, but rather definite refusal. Mary must have been to a few Sacred Twenty Eight parties of her own at some point. Bert grabbed Harry’s hand instead without complaint, and made a funny few steps before twirling the whole group into apparition. 

~

Berts house, when Neville was awake enough to appreciate it the following morning, was odd. The walls kept changing colour in the corner of his eye, paisley patterns giving way to high oak beams and then to sleek metallic finishes. He was sure that the entrance to this living room had changed positions on the wall more than once, and the corridors were a nightmare. If he had any knowledge of muggle technology, he would have said it was like the whole building was glitching, one room overlaid just off centre on top of another. However, he didn’t, so he simply called it odd. 

Bert himself perched on a desk at the front of the room in a suit that had seen better days before Neville was even born. The boys had been directed to breakfast under Mary, who utterly refused Neville’s gratitude for removing Algie from his life. (‘I did nothing of the sort, Neville, you were rescued because you wished to be and that’s all. Eat your eggs.’) Bert had not been present, and Mary had vanished when the boys were forcibly shepherded into the sort of school desks Grandmother Longbottom would have sat in when she went to lessons. They were all waiting for something, clearly. Harry’s eyes had been long since occupied in trying to find a pattern in the walls. Bert’s were focusing on a clock that always appeared in roughly the same place, with six hands that seemed to move completely at random. One of them, as Neville glanced at it, seemed to split into two, both marked with gilded writing he couldn’t quite decipher at a distance. 

There was a rush of footsteps in the hall, and a mass of thick black curls burst into the room. There was a girl in the centre, beaming with excitement and clutching what seemed to be Muggle quills and ink. She immediately bounced over to the boys and introduced herself as Hermione in a far more energetic manner than was deserved for this hour of the day. Mary followed behind at a stately pace. She looked to Bert, and to the clock, and back to Bert with a much more flushed appearance. It was subtle, but not enough for Neville or Bert to miss it. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, disappearing back into that odd corridor, which vanished behind her. 

“Right,” said Bert, oddly unperturbed, “who knows why we’re ‘ere?”

Hermiones hand shot up. She was moving like a pixie on dew, as the saying goes, and seemed far too excited for barely past dawn in April. “Wizarding culture lessons, sir! And maybe, if we do well, some magic, too?”

Bert nodded. His grin matched hers, clearly appreciating an attentive student. “Almost correct, Granger. Except, my lesson plan ain’t quite the same as Miz Marys.”

He produced three plain wands from somewhere behind him. Hermione gasped and Harry finally seemed to be paying attention. Neville examined them- chestnut, he thought. They looked rather worn. 

“You don’t ‘ave your own wands, but you can still practise on these. I think you’ll like the theory a bit more after, ay? Catch!”

Neville winced, immediately ducking his chestnut and sedately grabbing it from the ground. Harry somehow managed to grab the thin stick from midair, and looked equally surprised as Neville felt. Hermione made to follow Neville, but her wand started to spark when she picked it up. 

Bert hopped off his chair so fast Neville almost thought he Apparated to Hermiones side. “You’re the muggleborn, aren’t you? Curious. Very curious.” 

Hermione tightened her grip on her writing supplies. “I’ve got just as much reason to be here as either of them.” 

Bert nodded slowly. “Not doubting that, little lady. Not at all.” He pulled another wand from his pockets, and this one didn’t cause an incident when Hermione picked it up. 

“Right!” Bert moved to the front of the room and pulled out his own wand: ash, and oddly plain, even compared to the training wands. “I’m going to use the tickling charm, and you all are going to try and protect against it. The words are _protego_ , the motions look like this, and when we’re done we can discuss some wand lore before your Lordship lessons. Are you ready kids?”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” roared Harry and Hermione. Neville was beginning to realise, with a small smile on his face, that all of his new friends were completely and utterly mental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this chapter had to happen, don’t worry about the lack of ‘action’, that’ll be coming soon. I wanted to introduce Bert, who could end up reoccurring, and his weird house and some lessons. I’ll do a bit more on that next time.
> 
> This is the second time something weird has happened with Hermione and wands. Hmm. 
> 
> How soon is too soon for another Dumbledore conflict chapter? I keep writing more and more between here and Hogwarts. We’ll get there eventually, but there’s some detouring first.


	10. The one where Mary tries very hard to make a molehill out of a mountain

By the time they were finished, the sun was high in the sky and the scent of fresh pastry was beginning to waft through the house. The three had picked up the shield charm fast. Surprising even himself, it was Neville who figured it out first. Once Bert had repeated the wand motions for him, slowly, it clicked almost instantly. Hermione and Harry weren’t far behind, and by the time they were ready for lunch, it was their tutor who was chuckling away. 

Harry jumped up onto the chair beside Mary, who was sedately sipping her tea as she glanced over a copy of the Daily Prophet. Hermione and Neville both exchanged glances- she was pinching her lips together so tight they were almost white in an attempt to keep her calm. At least for Harry, it was working. He happily chattered about a particularly impressive _rictumsempra_ he had managed to fire off a few minutes before. 

“Is everything alright, Ms Poppins?” Hermione managed to get through half a scone before she simply had to ask. Harry looked alarmed, but Mary held up her copy of the prophet. The Albus Dumbledore on the cover twinkled his eyes at her underneath the headline, “Boy-Who-Lived Kidnapped!” Neville’s disappearance didn’t even make the byline. 

The three children went still while Bert turned suddenly silent. “This change much, Mary?”

“Of our day to day lives? Very little,” said the governess. She buttered her own bread very slowly, but there was no shake in her hands. “On the grand scale of things? Almost everything.”

~

Mary allowed absolutely no nonsense, and that included horrific reactions about what the useless piece of drivel known as the Prophet was sporting. After a week of very carefully cultivated silence, the trio had to admit that it was probably nothing. This realisation was helped by the promise of a very special reward for all three of Marys eager pupils if they could pass her quiz on the nonsense expected of and by Purebloods before the end of June. For the boys, this would be their futures. For Hermione, this was an excellent opportunity to learn more about the world she was adapting to. 

“Okay. Simplest questions first. Can you three introduce yourselves?”

Hermione went first. She had the sense of mind to look at the other two, but she was still determined to nail hers first. “Hermione Granger, born to no house yet debuted by House Poppins,” she declared with the false calmness that had been many weeks of work and a neat curtsy that hadn’t even taken one. Mary gave a tiny clap. 

Neville, next, still had the bad habit of a deep, steadying breath before he spoke, but he spoke well. “Neville, of the Noble and Ancient House Of Longbottom, current Heir, debuted by House Poppins,” he said, giving a surprised half laugh when he rose from his bow without fault. His confidence was coming on in leaps and bounds, Mary thought, and she found it strangely gratifying. 

Harry was last. He had never taken to the lessons of lordship, and Mary cursed ignoring that part of his lessons for so long. In her time, he wouldn’t have been “Harry, of the Noble and Most Ancient House Potter, Heir Apparent to the British Branch, Debuted by his Regent Maria of House Poppins,” he would have had as little status as she did and have been free to hate it. Times changed, she mused as she clapped. 

“Excellent! Once you begin full time education, you must know that introduction. Very well, then, a quick-fire round before your surprises, so you don’t simply burst before we get there.”

Mary surveyed the three children, but one of them looked fit to burst if she didn’t get asked right then and there. “Hermione, what is the Order of the Phoenix?”

Detatching her teeth from where they had been chewing her bottom lip, Hermione flew through her explanation without pompousness or tangents. It was so nice to see her learning. It would’ve been perfect, had she not called them “the light side, the heroes.”

“Correct,” she said, disliking the reprimand such an attentive student but unwilling to let such a slip go, “but don’t assume light means right.”

She swept on. Neville looked quite nervous, but he needed character building. It wouldn’t hurt him to wait a little bit more, and he’ll be so proud when he manages it. Never if, not with her children. “Harry. What Houses are closest to House Potter?”

Harry groaned, quietly. He didn’t mind the practicality of Lordship half as much as the politics. “Well, House Longbottom, Malfoy and Weasley, of course. We have agreements with the Patils and the Zabinis, too. And...” his pause was too long. Purebloods would never approve. But he was ten, and he did eventually remember “Houses Lovegood and Diggory! They’re not as high nobility, but we have some longstanding deals.”

Mary hummed. “You’re improving. Good work. Now Neville,” she continued, knowing that Harry would be content with even that little praise. Her boy was a simple one, and she loved him for it. Neville didn’t shrink back from her this time, a noted improvement. “Who are the most powerful houses on the Wizengamot?” 

Neville, as he always did, brightened at a question he knew the answer to. He was a sweet child, and tended to show his emotions on his face. “House Dumbledore hold the seats of those who lost them in war, right now, which gives it a third of the votes outright. Really, it should be Malfoy, then Potter, then Greengrass, Patil, and Longbottom,” he said, decisively. When Mary didn’t instantly praise him, he squeaked out, “right?”

Mary broke into a smile. “Don’t be nervous, Neville. You know your stuff. All three of you do. Now, how do we feel about that surprise?”

The three children, used to Marys antics, grabbed hands as she reached for her carpet bag. She closed the circle and shut her eyes for apparition. To the squeals of her excited charges, she barked “Ollivanders, here we come!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there’s going to be house plotlines in this. Canon had so many cool things it didn’t do anything with. This was one of them. 
> 
> Next chapter is a two-parter, probably, featuring more “no seriously how old is Mary” and the trio getting their wands. Neville isn’t replacing Ron, really, but there’ll be more Weasleys once they’re back at Hogwarts. 
> 
> I keep.... adding chapters, between here and Hogwarts. I hope you guys are enjoying them.


	11. The one where Neville gets the focus and appreciation he deserves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of the two wand chapters.

Hermione just couldn’t stand still. She couldn’t! The lessons had been amazing, of course, if a little bit infuriating at how little power a muggleborn had in this world. Still, how could that compare to getting her own honest to gods wand!

The three children burst into Ollivanders wand shop, with Mary following closely behind. More accurately, Harry and Hermione dragged Neville through the door, but it was all three of them standing in awe when they got inside. It was bigger on the inside, and every wall was covered in thin boxes, floor to ceiling. Even the dust dancing in the light from the dingy window seemed excited, and Hermione could feel the electricity in the air. 

So could the man standing behind the counter, if his looks were anything to go by. His grey hair was as bushy as Hermiones, sticking out at all angles, but his silver eyes seemed to stare right through them and into her soul. She shifted from foot to foot even as a Cheshire grin spread across his face as he looked to Mary. 

“A Poppins, in my shop? It has been too long, dear,” he said. He gave a much smoother bow than Hermione would have thought him capable of. “Do you still have it?”

Mary dropped into a curtsy, also smiling, and pulled out her own wand. Ollivanders eyes were like saucers. “Practically perfect in every way.”

He picked it up, waved it, and an array of silver bells appeared in a spiral around him, tinkling merrily. He laughed. “Still working as well as the day it was sold, I believe.”

“Did you buy your wand here, Godmother?” Harry was staring at the bells, just as fidgety as Hermione, and she realised suddenly that he had never handled one either. Neville clearly had, he seemed uncommonly patient, even for him. 

It was Ollivander that replied. “Oh, no, this wand is older than I am. It’s well kept, too.” At beseeching looks from two of the three children, and an inclination of Marys head he took as permission, Ollivander surveyed the wand. 

“Ah, kneazle hair core. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one. They fell out of fashion in the eighteenth century, I believe, mostly due to the fact that they never align with more than one owner. I’ve never had the privilege of making one. It was mark of one who is extremely protective and usually intelligent, although they have also been carried by some of the sneakiest dark wizards known to man. Fitting, if you’ll allow me to say so.”

Marys mouth quirked upwards, watching her godsons awed expression. “I’ll allow it.”

Ollivander was too absorbed in his descriptions to respond. “Cedar wood too, interesting. It’s said you’ll never fool someone carrying cedar. I have never met someone with that wand wood I would wish to cross, Miss Poppins and you are no exception. It’s lasted very well, all things considered. Rather unyielding for such a soft wand wood, but that’s your contribution, I suppose?”

Mary rolled her eyes. Ollivander didn’t seem to notice her lacklustre responses to his questions, merely continuing. “Yes, yes- 13 and three quarter inches, quite right. You’ve kept up its quality rather well. I dare say it’s the oldest wand of ours still in use. Which of my forefathers did you say made this one, Miss Poppins?”

“I didn’t,” came Marys terse reply. She took it back, running her fingers along the engraving lovingly, before she responded. “But it was a many great grandmother of yours. Jane, I think, Jane Grey?”

Ollivander nodded, still lost in his thoughts, then started and stared down at the children with those big, moonlike eyes. “I didn’t expect you to have three little ones with you this time. Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter, curious and curiouser. Who might this girl be?”

“Hermione.” She said, with her chin jutting out and her eyes boring into Ollivanders. She didn’t say her last name. He wouldn’t care. Ollivander tilted his head. “You last, I think, then.”

He straightened up and disappeared behind his bench. His voice held irritation as it drifted back. “You’ve brought me three unusual cases, Miss Poppins!”

“My pleasure, Garrick!”

~

Neville went first. It felt like the first time in all his life he had been number one. Ollivanders eyes were cutting straight into his soul, and he resisted the urge to shrink away. No. He was here for his very own wand. If there was ever a time to be like his dad, to have that lions courage, it was now. 

Ollivanders fingers twitched, taking measurements with enchanted tape and moving through the shelves in the same moment. His hands reminded Neville of some kind of rare albino spider, shuddering through box after box. He arrived with only three boxes, and some part of Neville’s heart sank. 

“Three?”  
“Sometimes, people walk in here that wear their heart stitched into their sleeves. Your mother was one of them. I knew the moment she walked in that Alice Macmillan was going to leave with her poplar and unicorn hair. I think, perhaps, Neville Longbottom, that you are one of them too.”

The first wand was knobby, gnarled, pale gold and varnished. When Neville waved it, the lights shuddered. Ollivander whipped it out of his hands before they could decide wether to be off or on, shaking his head as much as his hands. “Applewood and feng-huang feather. An excellent wand for a herbologist, a teacher. You are destined for more than an easy life, I’m afraid.”

Neville tried to keep the alarm off his face as another stick was pressed into his palm. This one was black, hazel that looked like it had been dipped in oil. It was carved, too, ornately, in a way that reminded him of his grandfathers wand from the mantle. The shop window banged as he held it, without even attempting a swish and flick. Ollivander frowned. “White River Monster spines don’t work for you either. I suppose you’ve got passion, but not in this direction. Well. We have one more.”

Neville felt something cold in his stomach. What if this wasn’t it? And the final wand was really rather plain, by wand standards. A grip slightly too long for Neville as he was now, chocolate brown wood. But when he picked it up, it sent warm ripples through some part of himself that even he couldn’t pinpoint. Ollivander stilled. “I think this may just be perfect. Loyal wands, english oak, attuned for the natural world, and for intuitive users. And, of course, courage against the odds. Dittany stalk, too. You’ve got a strong protective spirit in there, Neville.” 

Ollivander paused in putting the boxes back after about ten seconds of Neville staring at the wand in an open mouthed expression of surprise and awe. “That should not be shocking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane Grey was the Queen of England for nine days, between Edward VI, son of Henry VIII and Mary I, also known as Bloody Mary Tudor. Also, apparently in this fic her mother was an Ollivander.


	12. The one where Ollivander meets two very intriguing children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second of the two wand chapters. Read the other one first.

It took Harry and Hermione a couple of minutes to bring Neville back to Earth. They succeeded in closing his jaw, if not wiping the stars out of his eyes. He sat next to Mary (and her ornate tea set) on the low bench cradling his wand as Harry stepped up to Ollivander. 

“Harry Potter.”  
“Garrick Ollivander.”

The wand maker paused for a second, and then gave a full belly laugh. It made him seem more human than before. “Oh, Miss Poppins, you have a livewire under your coat. Did she tell you about your parents?”

Harry didn’t like the way the wandmaker spoke. He would stare into space, change the subject mid sentence, and even with the warm laughter lighting up the space, there was still something eerie about Ollivander. “As much as she knew, sir. But she never knew James, only what Lily wrote about him.”

Ollivander nodded so slowly it was like he moved each vertebrae at once. “He was mahogany and unicorn hair, eleven and three quarter inches. Excellent at transfiguration, but prone to flights of fancy. It didn’t work out as well for him as it could have. It’s Remus Lupin you must speak to if you want to know more.” 

Harry felt something like hunger in his heart. He missed the pained look on Marys face as he mouthed “Lupin” to himself. Suddenly, or so it appeared, Ollivander was standing there with a tottering stack of boxes. 

“Neville didn’t need half as many.”  
“The wand chooses the wizard, dear boy. Neville has made his choices. You haven’t.”

Both Neville and Harry looked alarmed at this, though Neville soothed himself with using his wand to clumsily shuffle the cards Mary was playing with. Harry had to settle for picking up a box from one of the many stacks in front of him. 

“Right then, Harry Potter. Try this one.” Harry found himself holding a thin wand with a carving he almost recognised. “Beechwood and dragon heartstring, flexible, for a wizard who-“

Harry didn’t find out what kind of wizard the beechwood would suit. It was pulled out of his hand before he even had a chance to raise it. It was replaced by a heavier wand, “maplewood and Phoenix feather, quite whippy, slightly temperamental,” which gave an equally adverse reaction. 

By the time Harry found a wand that didn’t immediately incense the wandmaker, Neville and Mary had moved onto a fully three dimensional castle of cards, complete with crowns for its king and queen. Hermione was still taking notes. Ollivander held out two boxes. “If it isn’t one of these, Harry Potter, I’m afraid you will have to try a second wandmaker.”

He lifted the lids of both boxes. “They’re both holly, I’m afraid, the wandwood of someone with a hard road ahead of them, but nothing else will quite fit you. The first,” said Ollivander, slowly. He sounded upset, like Percy whenever Ron used his textbooks as Quaffles. “I had to keep it put away for most of the war. Phoenix feather, an unusual combination, and uncommonly supple. This Phoenix only gave two feathers, in its whole lifetime. The other wand it chose- well. It was not wise to keep its partner on display.”

He brightened up as he gestured to the second. “I didn’t make this one. It’s been here as long as I’ve held the shop, perhaps longer, but it is an Ollivander wand. A curious one, too. Holly, a wand of vitality and protection, but the core is thestral hair.” Hermione and Neville both gasped. Mary looked over with pursed lips. Ollivander ignored them all, and Harry’s confusion. “Not a common core anymore. They always picked powerful wizards, but ones that blurred the lines of Light and Dark. This wand would certainly paint your future as... interesting.”

“Well, I’m not blurry, or interesting. I’m just Harry.” He went to reach for the prettily engraved phoenix feather on that impulse alone, but Mary spoke up. 

“Try the thestral hair, dear.”

Ollivander turned to stare at Mary, but she had a predatory glare, and he quickly turned away. Harry didn’t know why she was using the look generally reserved for Dumbledore and Skeeter on the nice wand maker, though. “Call it godmothers intuition.”

Obediently, and not noticing the ashen tone to Ollivanders pallor, Harry reaches for the thestral hair. It was unvarnished, unadorned totally except for a pattern of runes he didn’t recognise around the base. A breeze whipped through the shop the moment he made contact, ruffling Harry’s hair like an old friend and putting fresh breath in his lungs. He had to gasp as he held it, and Ollivander nodded despite himself. “Thestral hair it is, then.”

*

Hermione was last. She didn’t know if it was because Ollivander didn’t like muggleborns, or if he simply liked to confound Harry and Neville with stories of their parents. Harry was running his thumb over the carvings on his nice new _death wand_ , which he seemed to be almost as enamoured with as he was this “Remus Lupin”, and Neville had quietly asked to visit St Mungos during the week. She was happy they had their wands, sure, but something about Ollivander rubbed her the wrong way. 

“And finally, Hermione Granger. I think you’ll be as tricky a customer as either of the Lordlings.”

She tilted her head back, and jutted out her chin, looking into his silver eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Mary tutted, she could hear it, and Hermione shrank back a little, but she couldn’t let Ollivander win whatever this staring contest meant. She hadn’t quite figured that bit out. Yet. Ollivander seemed satisfied eventually, and started with the boxes. 

And the boxes. 

And did she mention the boxes?

“Miss Poppins, do you delight in seeing an old man wear himself thin finding wands for your charges?”

“I rather find I do, Garrick. That last one seemed better than the ones before, though. Do you have any other cores of that wood?”

Marys voice was as light as ever, but even Hermione was starting to get antsy. She couldn’t hold back the idea that maybe Mary was wrong, that this was all a mistake, that she would be Obliviated and sent home without a chance to change this fantastic, crazy world. The last wand Mary spoke of had merely caused Ollivanders lights to explode instead of the other non existent or catastrophic wands. Ollivander hummed. “She’s already tried larch with my three favourite cores, but I think I may have one more... aha!”

The wand he pulled out was jagged, long, so pale it almost looked like spun silver. Something in Hermiones heart sang at the sight of it. Like a dream, she clasped her fingers around it, and the lights in the shop blew out like candles. Instead, a halo of wicked spheres made from lightning danced around Hermione at dizzying speeds. A tiny forever later, Mary and Ollivander managed to dispel the electricity. Ollivanders hair looked, if possible, even bushier than before. Mary looked undamaged, but concerned. The boys, as one, declared what she had done to be “wicked!”

Ollivanders explanation was quiet as the trio paid. “Larch wood. Owners are intensely honourable, but intensely stubborn. Your path was chosen before you even knew how to walk it. They can strike would be thieves with lightning, which works well with the thunderbird feather inside it, showing loyalty and power. You will do great things, Hermione Granger. Be sure they are not also terrible.”

With that, Mary shuffled the trio out of the shop. She hissed at Ollivander as they left, something about nerve and fawkes, perhaps, but Hermione was still getting over the ringing in her ears. Perhaps that’s why she walked straight into Neville and Harry’s backs as they stopped dead in the street. 

In front of them was Albus Dumbledore, flanked by someone in posh dress robes with the aurors crest on the pocket and a remarkably mundane looking woman with a pinched face, dressed in pink. 

“That’s him,” said the woman, pulling at Dumbledore’s robes. “That’s my nephew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! More Hermione doing weird things, more Mary being ancient, and the re-emergence of Dumbledore trying something. What do we think?


	13. The one where Albus tries very hard to be the hero, and he would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for these meddling kids.

When Albus Dumbledore, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a woman that made Harry frown that deeply had shown up in Diagon Alley, it was all Neville could do not to immediately turn heel into Ollivanders and find Mary. Mary could smooth over all these ruffled feathers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, Mary was still occupied with threatening the wandmaker. Neville didn’t have many talents, but listening was one of them. Giving Harry a wand made from Dumbledore’s Phoenix, and connected with the Dark Lord- well. Mary was going to be occupied with the quiet, smiling threats for several minutes yet. 

Dumbledore smiled serenely at the woman in pink, before turning back to the boys. “Well then, I think it’s time you get back to your real family, isn’t it Harry? And Kingsley, send a patronus to Augusta. Her little boy had been found.” He didn’t even seem to notice Hermione. 

Harry’s eyes went comically wide. “You’re my Aunt Petunia?”

Several emotions flew across the rat faced woman’s features. Shock, yes, but there was something like disgust before she could reshape her features into some simpering thing that could have been love. “Yes, dear boy. That nanny of yours took you from us, when you were only small.”

Hermione was tugging at Harry’s sleeve, but he was frowning like he was trying to remember something that was almost there. Neville could see Dumbledore’s wand reaching out, and summoned accidental magic before he was even aware what he was doing. He didn’t realise it was him, for a minute. He had never been the kind of child that produced glittering lions to snarl at the people threatening him. 

Dumbledore blinked, slowly, and his wand vanished up his sleeve. ‘Good,’ thought Neville, with a swelling of something that might just be pride. He wasn’t as proud at causing the muggle woman’s reaction, as she immediately staggered backwards and let out a strangled shriek. Someone on the edge of his vision snapped photos. Shacklebolt merely laughed. “The kid has style.” 

It was to this unusual picture that Mary emerged to find. Ignoring Dumbledore and Petunia entirely, she bent down to the children. “Are you alright?”

Neville’s lion purred and Mary rubbed his shoulder in quiet congratulations. She then looked to Hermione, who was actively staring at the three adults in curiosity, and then her godson. Harry shifted on his feet, glanced at the three adults, back to Mary, and then pulled at her sleeve. “Godmom!” 

Mary took his hands, shuffled the other two behind her, and raised an eyebrow. Harry took that as his opening. “Shesaysshesmyauntbutshecamewithdumbledoreandidontlikedumbledoreandijustwanttogohomeandmaybeduelpercypleasedontsendmeaway”

Mary hugged him close. Harry shook, silently, for a minute. Shacklebolt began to look uncomfortable. When Harry was ready, she stood back up. “Dumbledore, you’ve already lost a duel to me over my godson. Bringing Lily’s sister here was pure cruelty. Unless you have something genuine to add, I’m afraid we must leave.”

Petunia hissed like a tyre that had just been stabbed. “He’s my nephew!”

“You said nothing of the sort when I took him from your arms as an undersized, barely cared for infant, Petunia Anne Evans. Watch your tongue.” Neville flinched, just a little, at the venom in her tone. 

At this, Shacklebolt intervened, although he looked rather reluctant to be involved. “Ms Poppins, we’re here on behalf of the Minister and the Wizengamot. You’re being charged with two counts of kidnapping.”

Hermione went red. “Am I not a person, then, to the Minister and the Wizengamot?”

Dumbledore smiled his most charming smile. “Of course, little one, but we’re mostly here for-“

“The rich ones. I understand. I don’t even think you know my name.” Hermione looked up to Mary, then, her eyes sparking with as much anger and venom as she had ever seen in a little girl. “You’re not going to let him, are you?”

“Absolutely not, Hermione,” said Mary. She looked at her three charges. Merlin, but she loved all of them. She couldn’t let them be taken away from her. She looked up to the three aggressors, then. “Set a date, Kingsley, and we will be there.”

Shacklebolt sighed. This was clearly going to be a difficult assignment. “Your court date is in ten minutes, on the bottom floor of the ministry courtroom.” 

Mary nodded without any comment on how abysmally unfair that was, and summoned a patronus. “Be a dear, and summon some friends, would you? It appears I’m going to need them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day, and there’s certainly some stuff to comment on here. Desperate Dumbledore makes Dumb Decisions, the side plot.


	14. The one where Dumbledore finally realises that maybe, just maybe, he might have made a small mistake

Minerva McGonagall was having a nice, peaceful early night in with her wife. They didn’t get them very often; a professors schedule was bad, but a Healers was worse. Unfortunately, a patronus floated through the door. Minerva tensed up, automatically, staring at the damn thing as it fussed over it’s feathers before deigning to speak. When Marys voice floated out, she groaned, throwing a tartan pillow through the projection. The damned thing didn’t even have the decency to look bothered by it, just continued speaking. “So, dear, if you please, round up Narcissa and Molly as my witnesses, and meet me in Cornelius’ dungeons for the trial? Much obliged!”

Some days, Minerva really didn’t like her oldest friend. 

The Scotswoman arrived to the courtroom twelve minutes later, after a similarly patronising patronus from Albus and a promise to bring home extra biscuits for her wife. She had sent her own patronus to the Burrow, where it stuck to the rafters avoiding Mollys youngest (what was his name?) and sat outside Malfoy Manor until Narcissa or Lucius could be bothered checking on their wards. Her hair was still in curlers, with her hat perched daintily on top with a sticking charm. At least her robes were dignified; Molly was still in her apron, wand holding up most of her hair, and looking absolutely furious at the need to drop her pies to come deal with whatever nonsense Dumbledore was peddling this week. Minerva was simply glad Molly opted to shoot glares at the headmaster instead of curses; the realisation that the headmaster wasn’t perfect had been rough on her. Narcissa and Lucius, as usual, looked like the poster models for _Purebloods: Suave and Scheming_ magazine. 

“Albus!” clucked Minerva as they stepped into the courtroom. He was sitting there, calm as you please, with an angry looking Harry and a nauseous looking Neville flanking him. Petunia Dursley was standing there too, unless Minerva had recently gone stark raving mad and no one told her, which was seeming more and more likely as the seconds ticked on. She was trying to hug her nephew, apparently, and he was having absolutely none of it. 

The nanny of the hour was clapped in creaky chains on the other side of the room, not that they prevented her from serving tea to Hermione, who was resolutely trying to glare holes in the side of the headmasters skull. Fudge, Kingsley, and a toad that had been transfigured rather badly into a woman wearing pink, were sitting at the high table. 

Albus had the decency to smile. “Ah, Minerva. So sorry to pull you away, but it had to be done. Are you willing to testify, under veritaserum, about the kidnapping of Harry and Neville?”

He noticed, then, in the second that Minerva froze, her companions. It was then that the smile became forced. “You brought guests, Minerva?”

“Hem hem,” came a voice from the box. It sounded like a rubber chicken being eaten by a particularly vicious chihuahua. “If this is to be a trial, can the witnesses not say their piece so we may move on to sentencing?”

Minerva took her veritaserum to avoid having to make eye contact with either the angry legilimens whose fear was only growing or that truly irritating woman. Was that a kitten, on her purse? Minerva restrained her instincts to hiss. The cloud of truth potion settled over her, and she began her beseeching testimony. “Of course. Albus, I’ve known where Harry was most of his life. The Dursley’s were unsuitable, you knew that. I don’t know how you dragged Petunia here, but she’s a muggle, and one that made a witches life miserable to boot. Let this go. Don’t ruin yourself over it.”

Petunia sobbed. Minerva had heard better from her first years wanting an extension on their essay. “He’s my nephew! My only piece of Lily-flower! You can’t say I’m unsuitable, I’m a squib, I can help him!”

Minerva raised an eyebrow, but obligingly transfigured a hanky from the dust in the air and floated it over to the sobbing woman. She jumped when it came near her, and spent about a minute staring at it before she began to dab her eyes. 

Lucius waved his cane in a lazy circle to draw all eyes towards him. He had been ignored for a whole three minutes, and that was clearly intolerable for the man. He walked up to the ministers desk, shoes clicking so loudly on the ground that they had clearly been charmed, and smiled, leaning across it. “Excuse me, but this is clearly a farce. The Wizengamot isn’t here, and the accused doesn’t even have a lawyer present.”

Mary shrugged; she had moved on to knitting in the last several minutes. She and Lucius got along, thought Minerva, because both of them were infuriatingly unable of anything near ordinary. Hermione was holding the deep bag open, watching the technique with eagle sharp eyes. “I’m qualified to represent myself, but the option would have been polite to offer. And the shackles are overkill, are they not? Especially for a ministry employee.”

Lucius stared at the nanny with the practised blankness of a man who had to smile at people he disliked every day of his life. He looked like something out of a muggle cartoon, pinstriped suit and all. The toad coughed again, another irritating “hem hem! Ms Poppins, you are not a member of this ministry, nor have you ever been. Cease these lies at once.”

Mary shook her head, not bothering to look at anyone but Hermione, who was watching the runic pattern being stitched up on the scarf with a furrowed brow. “I never lie, Madame Senior Undersecretary. I’ve been a servant of the ministry since 1706, leader of the Child Protection Division. Why, you could say Dumbledore was trying to sue the ministry itself!”

Narcissa gave a cold laugh. She was a cold woman, Narcissa, even dressed in pristine floral robes in soft, warm colours. “Imagine that! Dumbledore, I think your age may be getting to you.” The Black walked over, drumming her disturbingly claw-like baby pink nails on the desk in front of him. Minerva thought that they had to be transfigured, but didn’t recognise the spell. Narcissa smiled at Harry. “Harry, dear, do you want to go with Petunia?”

The boy shook his head empathically. Narcissa spread her arms wide, the rose coloured gauze fabric making her look like some pastel bird of prey. “That’s all there is too it. Minister, you’d hardly want the papers to realise that the Ministry was attempting to sue its own member for kidnapping of her own godson, whom she has legal custody of, would you? Why, Lucius, do we not have a meeting with dear Rita Skeeter after this?”

Lucius nodded, walking over to his wife and giving a hollow chuckle, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. If she was a bird of prey, he was some sort of carnivorous robot. “I do believe we do, Narcissa. What... coincidence. She’d certainly be intrigued.”

The creature in pink stood up, pointing one plump finger at the Malfoys. She looked like Narcissa if that lady had been put through an oven. “Are you threatening the rule our esteemed minister?” 

“Oh, no.” “Perish the thought!” “Our esteemed minister is threatening his rule all on his own, Dolores.”

Dumbledore stood to leave, taking Petunia with him. His eyes were decidedly not twinkling. “I won’t forget this. What a world, when friends become foes and foes become friends!”

Petunia, as they reached the door and Molly was fussing over Marys chains, had the most terrible misfortune in a life of terrible misfortunes of speaking up. “Do I still get my share of Lily’s fortune, Dumbledore?”

He tried to shush her, but the damage was done. Minerva put her hanky over her mouth, the heavy tang of veritaserum on the fabric not masking her dismay. This Albus was not a man she knew. Both Malfoys seemed faintly horrified; Narcissas knuckles had tightened ever so slightly and Lucius was lazily twirling his cane on the ground a fraction slower than usual. Kingsley had a faint grey tinge to his skin, but he still spoke with authority. “That money wasn’t yours, Albus, to promise to anyone. The court rules in favour of Ms Poppins, and allows her to decide damages.”

Mary stood up. Hermione took the opportunity to snatch the scarf, and examine the endless reams of runes. The nanny stretched her back, bit her lip, thought for a moment. “Hmm... he stole my godsons money, so I believe myself entitled to some of his. Perhaps a years salary. Minerva, did you say you haven’t found a satisfactory Defense Professor for Harry’s year?”

“I did say that, yes. We have an applicant, but he’s not as qualified as I like.” Minerva didn’t like Quirrell. He had been a TA for several years, but something about him always rubbed the transfiguration professor the wrong way. She didn’t want him in charge of her nephews classes, or any of them, really. His trip to Romania didn’t help matters. 

“Well,” said Mary, eyes twinkling with more mischief that Minerva thought wise, “I believe my resume will suffice. I’ll take the position for a year, to ensure no further events happen with Albus, and search for no further damages. Is that agreeable, Minister?”

Cornelius surveyed the room as he went slowly whiter and whiter. The two Malfoys, snakes that they were, would be dangerous enemies in an election year. If you combined them with Poppins and her sway over damn near half the wizarding children of the previous few generations, it would be worth irritating the Chief Mugwump to keep them content. Fudge had his fair share of flaws, but he always knew which way the wind blew. This woman wanted Dumbledore down, and he wouldn’t go down with him. “Yes. The Ministry agrees. Sort out the terms of your employment on your own, but you are the new Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Mary Poppins.” 

He turned to Dolores. “Make sure to fire her from whatever division of the ministry she’s still listed under.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: I’ve been skirting the edges of canon for most of this story, but there are some nice fanon aspects I want to start bringing in. Would anyone have a problem with that? 
> 
> Also: the Malfoys were so camp in the first draft of this chapter.


	15. The one where Harry’s makes a new friend and this pleases absolutely no one

After that rather... eventful weekend, Mary was determined to give her godson a peaceful remainder of the Summer in the Poppins household. The boys birthdays were coming up sharply, however, and as much as Harry loved her little cottage, it simply couldn’t hold the number of friends he had managed to make. 

This, however, was a much bigger problem than it appeared. She couldn’t give up the secret to Berts house; it had been a safe house too many times to ruin the secret for a party. Much as Mary loved Molly, the Weasley Matriarch tended to see Mary for her physical age. She was loath to encourage it, even if it did make her feel warm somewhere inside. More than that, it would put too much pressure on Mollys purse strings holding the event at the Burrow. Mary knew that James had held a family manor, and she supposed that it was now in the hands of Harry, but she had never been and the boy would hardly know himself. No, there was one solution: Poppins Manor. 

So it was that one sunny morning at the start of June found Mary standing at a pair of old iron gates surrounded by a gaggle of children. She had insisted that Mollys help wasn’t needed (it _was_ her own house, after all), but had taken her gaggle of idle hands gladly. Only Charlie and the very littlest Weasley had opted to remain at home, citing a prior commitment with some Magizoologist neighbour over the hill and his eccentric daughter, of age with the youngest ginger. Neville had been entranced by both the rambling gardens Mary vaguely remembered and the opportunity to explore an old-fashioned Pureblood Manor. Hermione had managed to strong arm her way onto the team too, as she was starting to pick at the mystery of how old Mary was, exactly. It always made her smile to see a little one so determined to solve the unsolvable. Harry was at her right hand as usual, and none of his Purer friends could be persuaded to come with even the chance of physical labour. 

Mary made stern eye contact with every one of the children before she opened the gate. Her bag was floating above her, keeping her hands free for business. There was no dainty hat today, Henry the umbrella had been left at home, and she had even deigned to wear a frightfully improper set of trousers re-enforced with dragonhide. She didn’t remember anything dangerous in the Manor, but that was the problem: she didn’t remember. “Now, children, remember that I haven’t been here in many years. It could be perfectly fine. It could be dangerous. Stick together and always tell me when you’re leaving the room I’m in. Understood?”

When the chorus gave assent, Mary removed one black trollskin glove and laid her palm against the gate. Like, well, magic, the rust spiralled off the gate, turning into ruby red sparkles that landed in the children’s hair. It opened without a whisper, brambles pulling back from the path as the Manor House became visible for the first time. 

It was huge. That was the unanimous first impression. The building was rough stone with glowing runes around the windows and glittering geometric carvings decorating the corners. There were a lot of corners; even from ground level, the building sprawled. Each window held a candle, and as Mary watched, they slowly flickered into life. 

She bit back the smile at the amazed noises behind her. “Are you ready, children?”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Cheered the younger members of the party, much to the confusion of the oldest Weasleys, who rarely stayed at Marys long enough to see her fiddle an ancient TV set into life. She shook her head, laughing, and opened the door.

Poppins Manor had very few doorways. Instead, there were arches lining the corridor, with more runes above the lip. Mary tapped her wand to the wall and murmured “graphamuta,” mostly for Hermiones benefit. The runes shuddered, then reorganised into simple English lettering. “Right. Bill, the kitchen should be mundane enough. Take Ron and Neville with you, and keep George out of trouble. I’ll be in in a moment if you find something you can’t open with Alohamora.”

Group split, she led her own quartet into the living room. It was fairly mundane: the butterflies sewn into the turquoise silk curtains were sluggish, the armchairs were the modern ones (only 18th century), and the fire only crackled merrily in shades of blue, rather than more unique combinations. Mary made a point to bow to the figures in the silver mirror, as always. She received a tip of the Mirrored Marys hat back, and got to watch both versions of Percy and Hermione dropping their jaws as the Mirrored Harry laughed and laughed. She promised both eager pupils a lesson in the sort of advanced transfiguration needed to make such a mirror after a short round of begging. They settled in for a fairly peaceful hour of dusting, light charms work, and the odd peak in at the rest of the boys making light work of Mollys cleaning charms in Marys kitchen. 

That was, of course, until Fred dropped a bottle onto the hardwood. The warning label had been too obscured for the translation charms to get at. She had assumed it was another bottle of miniature fireworks, courtesy of one revolution or another. When she didn’t here the signature crackle, Mary turned on the dime, but it was already too late. The bottle had shattered, releasing a cloud of dust into the room. Hermione let out a hiss of alarm- wait. No. That was not Hermione. 

“Ciocaeli!” Mary cried, in what could almost be called a roar. A blast of fresh air swept through the room, playing with the curtains, ruffling the Mirrored Hermiones hair, and revealing the two foot long python that was slowly circling Fred. 

Mary froze for a second, trying to think of the best banishing charm that wouldn’t cover one of Mollys sons in snake blood. The boy in question was standing very still, muttering “Nice snakey. Good snake. Leave Fred alone, that’s a good snake.” 

She had just decided that Blood Banishing Curse would be easiest when the decision was roughly ripped from her hands. Harry crouched down and began to speak in a way she didn’t think human throats could manage. He was staring at the snake in something that was almost awe, hissing. One long noise after another, and slowly the snake turned. 

She was beautiful, in an odd way. Black as night from head to tail, with golden squares down her back that almost seemed to glow. Her eyes - for it was definitely a she, Harry knew that, even if he didn’t know how - were hypnotising. 

_“Speaker,”_ she sung, in that language that wasn’t a language. _“Are you a friend?”_

 _“Yes,”_ said Harry, with more conviction than he felt. _“He’s a friend, too. Please don’t eat him.”_

 _“If you insist,”_ she said. She was being rather agreeable, for a vicious man-eating snake straight out of some adventure book. Instead of eating Fred, she turned to stare at Harry. He had the sudden realisation that she was waiting on him. He barely noticed Fred throwing himself on to the couch and out of her reach.

 _“Err- do you have a name?”_ he asked. It seemed like the polite question.

The snake paused, tilting her head to the side in a very human gesture, and flicking her tongue out. It made her look cute. _“I don’t think so. Do you want me to have one?”_

Harry nodded with a lot more assertiveness than he felt. Everyone needed a name, right? _“Well, it would be easier”._ Here, he paused, trying to think of a vaguely suitable name for his newest... pet? Friend? He could only think of one. _“I’ll call you Medusa, just for now, okay?”_

She bobbed her head up and down, not in the least bothered by what the name meant. Harry supposed a snake hardly cared if others called her a frightening name, so long as she knew what her friend meant by it. _“Of course, speaker.”_

She moved towards him then, one great surge of muscle, and wrapped her way around his arm. She was only a little longer than it, her head curling to rest around his neck. It was then that the rest of the world faded back in. 

Fred was as white as a sheet. Hermione was hovering over him, shooting anxious looks to Harry. One of her curls had come loose from her scarf, but it didn’t seem the right moment to mention it. Mary was very, very, still. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked. It felt weird to speak English, now. 

“You have a talent, Harry,” said his godmother at last. She spoke no differently than before, but she was much paler. 

“A rare one- the last one to have it was, umm-“ Hermione started, but she cut herself off, staring guiltily at Mary. Harry rapidly felt a pit grow in his stomach. 

“Several hundred generations of House Potter, House Patil, most of the Indian Noble Houses, and Lord Voldemort.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing cute vaguely domestic fluff, and then Harry got a snake. Welp.
> 
> Also: I made a minor edit a few chapters back to say that this is happening the summer before first year, so my timeline matches up a bit better. It won’t impact anything else.


	16. The one where Percy makes a very loyal, very unwise decision

Percy was having a perfectly fine time in the great halls of the Poppins Manor House. It wasn’t as interesting as he thought it would be, if he was honest. He spent half his time with his own mother using cleaning charms and spraying for Doxies, dodging George trying to pour soap suds down his neck and sneaking off for private minutes with the bookshelf. The bookshelves Mary had were much better than his own, though, he had to admit. Hardbacks peppered her immense collection, and first editions, and even several papyrus scrolls. One of them had ‘Return to the Library of Alexandria before the turn of the tide, or may Ra curse you’ inscribed on the inside cover. Percy put that one down quite fast, but made a note to show Bill. 

“C’mon, Perce!” A shadow loomed behind him, attached to one of the twins - George, probably, judging by the sweater reading Fred. “No skiving off, or Mum will have all our heads once Mary mentions it.”

Percy bristled. He was older than the twins, but they always treated him like Ickle Percy, unable to keep his head near even the smell of a book. “Well, I wasn’t skiving off, was I? These shelves needed dusting!”

George rolled his eyes, and Percy reached for his wand in spite of himself- a nice _tarantallegra_ would make him shut up for a few minutes. Abruptly, the decision was wrenched out of his hands. Very few things united Percy with either of the twins. Fred shrieking from the next room over was one of them. 

Four ginger heads snapped up in one heartbeat, and four sets of legs made a run for the door. Percy had a dark feeling in his gut. He had never heard Fred sound so scared before. 

In the room across the hall, Harry Potter appeared to be trying to speak to a constrictor. It wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d done, but Percy considered it up there on the list. He barely even noticing the Weasley clan making a beeline for their brother. Hermione was standing over him, hair undone, hissing healing spells that didn’t seem to work. Percy elbowed her out of the way. “You have to be calm, or they don’t work,” he said, in a pompous tone that fell flat. It took him two tries to successfully cast his own diagnostic charm. He was fine. They were fine. 

Finally able to breathe again, he left Fred to the able help of George and Bill and turned on his heel to Mary. “How are you getting rid of that- that thing, Ms Poppins? I want to help.”

Mary looked around the room, surveying Fred as he manoeuvred into sitting up straight, the stars in her godsons eyes, and finally Percy, eager, wand out and vicious. “No.”

Percy went red from the tip of his ears his toes. “No? It tried to kill my brother!”

Harry looked at Percy like he was seeing him for the first time, and a film of tears spread across his eyes. The snake on his shoulders swayed, letting loose a soft hiss at her masters discomfort. Mary grabbed Percy’s shoulder with a grip like iron. He hadn’t even noticed e had made a lunge for it. “No, Percy. Everyone reacts badly when they’re scared, and the snake is no exception. Neither are you.”

The comparison shook Percy. In the thick tense silence, Harry piped up. “Her name’s Medusa.” The room was silent for another heartbeat, then Hermione started laughing, semi-hysterically, and leaned against one of the walls for support. The lightning in the air faded as even George cracked a smile. “That is probably the worst name in the world for your harmless snake, Harry.”

Percy was standing, staring at this, and then whirled back around to his brother. “Fred...”

Fred stood up, slowly regaining his colour, and hit Percy on his arm. “No harm, no foul, Perce. Besides,” he continued, with a Slytherin glint in his eyes and a purposefully innocent tone, “I’m sure Harry will let you study her.”

Mary cleared her throat, interrupting the situation once it had thoroughly been defused. There was more than one lesson to be learned here, and she thought they might have learned the most of them. “Harry, if Medusa attacks anyone else, I will release her personally. She was scared this time. See she doesn’t get so again.”

Once the pair had nodded, Mary summoned her bag. “I think this floor is ready for the party. I can handle the bedrooms myself. How about we take a picnic in the gardens?”

~

As Neville eagerly dragged the party out the door muttering about Moon Orchids and a Nargle nest, Hermione stood back. “There’s one thing I don’t think I understand, Mary. Where did that snake come from?”

Mary examined the mirror for a long moment before she answered. The Hermione reflected there was glaring, tapping her foot, and her own reflection was sheepish. “A gift,” she said at last. “It would have been a gift for a friend, at her wedding, if things were different.”

She fixed the loose lock of Hermiones hair reflexively. She didn’t look content with the short answer. “Who wants a snake for a wedding present?”

Mary laughed. It wasn’t a nice noise. “Parselmouth families would consider it tradition. Euphemia Potter, for one, believed a wedding was cursed without the gift of a snake.”

Hermione, wisely, left it there. She followed the rest out to the gardens. Mary cleaned up the broken glass by hand before she followed, pausing only a moment to rub the faded dedication on the bottle. Dearest Lily, I never stay in contact with my children, as you know. I find myself making exceptions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more Weasleys than Ron and Ginny. 
> 
> To my knowledge, the chapters to come are going to be: birthday, then sorting, then some more confrontation, because those are fun to write. 
> 
> Any opinions on sortings?


	17. The one where Harry has a good time, for once

Draco fixed his collar one final time in his dragonbone mirror. His shirt was perfectly starched and pressed, over artfully plain slacks and a pair of muggle running shoes, charmed within an inch of their life by Mother before he would even consider wearing them. He was going to a party, a social event, populated by the people that would later become the highest echelons of society - and the Weasleys, he supposed. He felt awkward even in this state. It felt far too casual, but apparently, that was what Harry wanted for his birthday. Draco didn’t want to upset his friend even more than he wanted to be wearing antique dress robes. 

Friends are weird, he thought, even as he carefully chose the lock of hair he would leave loose from the holding charms, for authenticity. Father didn’t have nearly as many friends as Draco did, and Draco was only eleven. He had Harry, and Neville, and Theo, Hermione, Daphne, and they were close as close could be. He was certainly well acquainted with Blaise, Seamus, Pansy, Padma, Percy and the rest of the Weasleys too, if he had to name them. Father had Lord Crabbe, Lord Goyle, Lady Zabini and Lady Parkinson, and that was all. And Fathers eyes always narrowed a little, when he heard Draco talk about his friends. It made him a little apprehensive about today, even as he took the Floo Powder from Mothers hand and said “Poppins Manor!” with all the confidence he could muster. 

And then there they were. Swimming up in front of the flames was Seamus Finnegan, in (dear Merlin) baggy muggle pants and a Weird Sisters t-shirt! Draco wanted to shudder. Beside him was Parvati Patil, who looked at least somewhat presentable in a casual pink tunic with hand-stitched floral embroidery around the hems that Draco thought might be called a kurta. Both of them were grinning as he came through. 

“Draco!” yelled Seamus, as the purebloods took a moment for their courtesies. Parvati was the younger twin, not the heir like Padma, and therefore a little bit rusty, but Seamus didn’t even try. Draco felt out of his depth, even as the cheerful pyromaniac grinned and tugged his arm, chanting “c’mon c’mon c’mon!”

“You’re the last one here, Draco,” explained Parvati. She managed to make the near sprinting pace Seamus was dragging them at seem almost effortless. “Seamus drew the short straw to show you where we’re eating, and I drew the short straw in minding Seamus.” She sounded more amused than annoyed, though. Draco sometimes wondered if they would be more than friends, if things were different. 

They emerged into what Draco’s internal compass thought might be the centre of the building. Bright and airy, surrounded with glass on four sides and a lazy criss-cross of charms for a ceiling, the central garden of this Manor was bigger than Draco’s summer house. There was Hermione with Percy, both sitting cross legged next to Padma Patil, avidly discussing the snake lazily curled between them. Nearby, Theo, Daphne, and Daphne’s baby sister Astoria were having what appeared to be an argument with Neville over some plant he didn’t recognise. Draco was relieved to see that those five, at least, were dressed appropriately for the celebration. 

His Mother walked over to join Percy’s Mum, Ms, Mary, Padma and Parvatis’ Baba, Blaises’ Mother and someone that was probably Seamus’ Mam in setting up the table. Several of the remaining Weasleys were playing tag, which Seamus raced to join, and Parvati joined Blaise, the youngest Weasley Gwaine, and someone with silvery blonde hair that could only be his best friend, Luna, in what looked like a hair braiding class. Gwaine looked positively delighted to have his long mane curling all around his head, while Blaise was making quick work of Lunas locks. Draco didn’t quite get the appeal. 

That was everyone, then, but where was- “Harry!” The younger boy had jumped on Draco’s back, somehow, and the two of them fell in a heap on the grass. He didn’t even notice his french tuck coming undone through his laughter. 

“Harry! You look-“  
“Awesome?”  
“Yes!”

Harry was almost glowing, bouncing on his feet as he helped Draco up. He spun in a circle, showing off his own light green kurta. “Padma got it for me! She said her mother used to charm them for my dad, and she made this one the same way. My dad, Draco! Isn’t it awesome?” 

Draco was spared trying to express some joy or approval of Harry’s odd attachment to these people he had never known by a stampede towards the dinner table. He had never gotten why Harry was so attached to the Potters, or why he couldn’t see that Mary always spoke a little bit sharper after he brought them up. Draco’s cousin Sirius was in prison, never to be seen again, but Draco didn’t think about _him_ all the time. Still, he took his seat at Harry’s right hand, and put it out of his head. 

~

Narcissa charmed several branches into makeshift brooms as Mary transfigured rocks into balls, moving in almost perfect tandem. They were used to the dance of spellwork together, after nearly ten long years of providing for their boys and the hanger-ons together. As the crowd dispersed into something that could technically be considered quidditch or the small game of knights and dragons going on beneath, and the other parents sipped their tea, Narcissa turned to Mary. She was still watching her godson. “You’ve done a good job with him.”

The nanny sighed. She felt for the golden chain on her neck that Narcissa knew often held a time turner. “Have I?”

“Yes,” said the former Death Eater, no hesitation. “He’s happy, he’s well trained, and he’s gathering allies around him already. He’ll be formidable when he comes of age.”

Mary laughed. Narcissa allowed a tiny smile to grace her lips, hidden behind the teacup. She knew this ancient woman wasn’t really the lost twenty-something she looked like, but sometimes both of them forgot. “Formidable is not my goal for him, Cissa, you know that. It never has been. I want him safe, happy, innocent.”

“I don’t know much about innocence,” Narcissa said, with bitterness that surprised even herself. “Not since before my marriage. But to be safe in our world is to be formidable, Mary, you know this.”

Mary sighed. “He misses his parents. I can’t seem to contact any of their friends. Rubeus is still too nervous at the thought of irritating Albus to me, Remus is gone to ground, and Augusta only wishes to speak about Frank, not James or Lily. The rest think all I associate too much with former Death Eaters.”

Narcissa indulged herself in a truly rude gesture, for any self respecting aristocrat of muggle or pure blood. She rolled her eyes at her friend. “You worry too much. You’re raising him well, and he’s raising a court of Purebloods and muggleborns alike around him for protection- and don’t give me that look, you know he’ll need them in Hogwarts.”

“Dumbledore,” groaned Mary. Narcissa nodded, and gently patted her friend on the shoulder. Time as finally given her ability to feign the consoling nature she severely lacked. “You can’t be with him all the time, but you’re a great mother.”

“Godmother,” said Mary, in a heartbeat. “A godmother can leave, when she’s not needed. Lily Evans is his mother.” 

Narcissa had heard it all before, but still winced a little, not the least because of how utterly unconvinced Mary sounded. But a lifetime with Lucius and his cronies had given her a sense for when her words would not be heeded. “Come,” she said at last, “I believe it’s time for cake.”

Harry spent his eleventh birthday with his almost twin, Neville, his best friends in the whole world, and his family, Mary Poppins. If this was what the rest of the year was going to be like, he thought to himself, then he was going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I have room for much Ginny in this book, unfortunately, but here’s an introduction of her, I suppose. 
> 
> If someone in their year isn’t mentioned in this chapter, they are not a main character. If someone in their year is mentioned in this chapter, they may not be a main character. If you guys think I missed someone, let me know. 
> 
> Also if I fucked up any of the words relating to Desi Harry, because I’m v much not Desi. 
> 
> Comments make my week!!!


	18. The one where the Sorting Hat throws some curveballs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments are going to have a field day with this one.

The Hogwarts Great Hall was always beautiful. It had been beautiful a thousand years before, when it was the only stone building in a village of wooden ones, with no fancy ceiling or ghostly floating lights. But, if you listened to the opinion of Mary Poppins, it was even more beautiful when there was a line of tiny, vaguely terrified children and an old, ragged hat in it. 

Having delayed her departure until her godson could come with her, this was the first time Mary had seen the castle in quite a while. Oh, not since the founders era - she had been back numerous times over the centuries, to chat with portraits of long dead friends and have tea with the hat. He got rather bored with composing songs all year round, and was an absolute riot when drunk. This wasn’t even the first time she had taught here. Although Defence wasn’t her only mastery, it had been her first official one, and once her favourite of the Hogwarts Four had conveyed the award on her, she had led their house with pride for almost fifty years. 

She gave a little wave to the children she recognised sitting amongst the benches. Percy Weasley was having an avid discussion with the other Slytherin Prefect at his table, with Fred trying to listen in surreptitiously. She could see the other Weasley twin having an avid discussion about something that was either Quidditch or trouble at the Ravenclaw table, with a student she recognised vaguely as one of the Karasu girls. She was glad to see he wasn’t lonely, considering Charlie’s graduation had left him the sole Weasley among the eagles. 

Her oldest and wisest friend took to bellowing out his song, just then. With the quick decisions that “Abbott, Hannah!” was meant for the badgers and “Anderson, Rhiannon!” was to join the lions, the sorting got underway. 

~

Hermione was beyond anxious. She had no idea what that hat was going to ask to see beneath her head. By the time it had put Bullstrode, Millicent into Slytherin, she had a worse realisation. Would it even ask? Were wizards nutty enough to stick a mind-reading piece of cloth onto their children without even considering their choices? She didn’t think so, but most wizards seemed positively barmy. This morbid train of thought continued until Daphne, sitting beside her, subtly jogged her elbow to remind her to clap for Seamus joining the Gryffindor table. That wasn’t even a surprise, really. What better place to put a pyromancer than with a bunch of people that would only encourage his recklessness? And then, all of a sudden, it was her. 

‘ _What do we have here?_ ’ said a voice. Inside her head. Inside her head! 

‘ _Hush, child. I’m just a hat, and one bound to secrecy with whatever I find._ ’ That doesn’t change that you’ve found it, though, does it, Mister Hat! She thought back with all her ferocity. 

The sound of a chuckle from inside her brain was the weirdest sound Hermione had ever heard. ‘ _No, I suppose it doesn’t. You certainly stand up for what you believe in, a Gryffindor trait._ ’ The hat laughed at the spike of alarm that ran through her body at the thought that that was all she was to wizards: some angry little black muggleborn girl, trying to change the world. ‘ _Yes, there’s certainly more to you than that, don’t worry, I see the rest. And what a lot of rest it is. A thirst for knowledge, a dedication to your friends, and something more than that. Hmm._ ’

Hermione was beginning to get impatient. She didnt think she had been under long, but it was certainly longer than Bones, Susan or Brown, Lavender, or anyone that had gone before her, really. She had better things to do than listen to this invasive piece of cloth stare at her soul. ‘ _Better things to do, ay? Well, you’re certainly driven, and with high goals in mind. You don’t mind the difficult path, do you?_ ’

Hermione felt vaguely offended. He was seeing her thoughts, but didn’t think she could take whatever he threw her way? ‘ _Very well, then,_ ’ he said, in a voice that sounded like he was laughing at her. ‘ _Better be SLYTHERIN!_ ’

Hermione grinned and sat herself down beside Percy. He whispered the definition of a hat stall in her ear as they both purposefully ignored that the only people clapping were her friends and the odd prefect. She made up for it by clapping, as loud as she could, when Daphne got her yellow tie. 

~

If Hermione was anxious, Neville appeared suspiciously calm. He ran his fingers over and over his wand, feeling the reassuring hum of the dittany inside. He itched to look to Mary for reassurance, but he was too frozen to turn. 

He knew he was meant to be here. The nightmares he used to have as a kid, of being turned away after ten minutes under the hat, called a squib, made scrub floors with Filch - they were long gone. He knew he’d always have a place with his friends and, by extension, in Hogwarts. Now, a different tragedy was playing out behind his eyes. What would his gran do if he wasn’t a lion? He loved Augusta, with her flaws, but she was certain to the bone that he was a Gryffindor. Neville was not. Still, even if she decided that she didn’t want a Hufflepuff in the family, Neville would manage. 

As he came to this decision and calmed, the lanky girl with a feathery bronze undercut next to him poked Neville square in the ribs. The elder Greengrass was sitting pretty in Hufflepuff, trying to adjust the gold of her bow to match the gold of her hair. Neville was next. Oh Merlin.

‘ _There’s no need for that, my boy,_ ’ came an echo from between his own ears. Neville jumped, and the distant ripple of laughter made him blush a fierce red. ‘ _A lot here, a lot absent... interesting. You’d grow in Hufflepuff, certainly._ ’

Hufflepuff, thought Neville. He could see the pinched corners of his grans lips even now, could see himself spending more and more time at the Poppins House, could see himself happy and glowing in the badgers den and shrinking in the draft-filled corridors of his family home. He bit his lip. ‘Alright’ he thought back. ‘Are you sure that’s where I should be?’

‘ _Where you should be? Oh, certainly. Where you want to be? Not in the slightest._ ’ Neville couldn’t see the hats lips, but he knew they were twitching up. ‘ _You can face the weight of your decisions, can’t you?_ ’

Neville shrunk a little, but then straightened his spine. He could deal with Hufflepuff. He could be happy in Hufflepuff, even if it killed him. And his friends would always be by his side, no matter what. Determined, he nodded to the hat. ‘ _Very well, then,_ ’ he said. ‘ _Better be GRYFFINDOR!_ ’

~

Draco wasn’t nervous at all. He took the hat after MacMahon, Collette, and he knew he’d be put into Slytherin in the same instant way she had been put into Ravenclaw. The hat touched the very tip of his hair- c’mon, Slytherin, c’mon!

‘ _You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you, little dragon?‘_ ’ came the amused voice from inside his skull. Draco, too busy frantically chanting Slytherin in his head, barely heard it. This was all a bad dream, he was already settling into his dads bunk under the lake, scrawling his initials onto the glowing lanterns that lit up the dormitories, playing Gobstones with Pansy. He had to be Slytherin. 

The hat took the opportunity of being utterly ignored to muse as he rifled through Draco’s memories. He had a strong Occlumency barrier, just not strong enough. ‘ _Yes, you have some cunning, but no ambition of your own. It’s your friends you want, not some lofty position._ ’ 

At the shudder that ripped through Draco, unbidden, at what Father would say to that, the hat tutted. ‘ _He loves you, and there’s so much more to you, Dragon. You have other goals than Bella, or Lucius, or maybe even Narcissa._ ’

Slytherin, Draco shouted to the voice, almost begging, I know how to be Slytherin. It’s reply was definite, but not unkind. ‘ _You know how to be a snake, but you need to spread your wings. I think you’ll bloom best in RAVENCLAW!_ ’

Even Neville had managed to walk off the stool after his sorting. Draco had to be pushed. He only became aware again with the weight of George’s arm, curled protectively around his shoulders. The weasel was talking absolute nonsense with Rose Karasu, shooting glances down at Draco every so often. He felt himself slowly relax. Maybe he could do this. 

(It was only when, after a determined look on his usually passive face, Theodore Nott joined their posse, that Draco knew: he was going to be just fine.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it’s only half the sorting. These chapters are hard to write, and this is 1.5k on its own. 
> 
> The P-Z section of the alphabet also contains two changes and one remaining in their canon house. Guesses are welcome.


	19. The one where the Sorting Hat sees emotional depth in the human equivalent of a puddle

Pansy Parkinson wasn’t a pretty girl, or a kind one. She had no chivalry, minimal loyalty, an abscess of creativity, and frankly pitiful cunning. She had a face like a pug and stringy brown hair that did absolutely nothing to hide it. Really, Pansy had absolutely nothing going for her. And she knew it. 

Pansy had two loving parents that had a whole world planned out for their darling baby girl from the moment the conception charms glowed green. Pansy herself- her desires, her hopes? They were never part of the plan. Her parents were already in discussion with three different Noble houses for her eventual husband, and she was barely eleven. One of them, Pansy had never even met! Still, that was life, wasn’t it? She figured that maybe, if she attached herself to someone eligible, she could steer the course a bit. She’d manage just fine. 

‘ _Would you now, little flower?_ ’ said the wheezing bag of fabric crowning her lacklustre locks. Pansy stilled herself with all her Pureblooded graces, trying to fight the instinctive cringe and succeeding, with a hot flush of pride flowing through her and colouring her next words. ‘ _Yes. I’ll deal with whatever they have planned, and you too, if I have to._ ’

She was less certain about that, but she was terrified of showing her hand. She was struggling for control of the conversation in her head. How was she meant to flex her superiority if he could see what she wasn’t? All she could do was jut out her chin and pray it worked out. ‘ _You’re a very strong willed young girl. Not much for Ravenclaw, I feel... where does your loyalty lie?_ ’

‘ _Myself,_ ’ she thought back, suppressing the sting of disappointment. She knew she wasn’t clever, and she didn’t have anyone else to be attached to, really. Even the children of Fathers Purest friends barely spoke to her whenever they met. At least her fellow snakes would be friendly, and understand her motives. Friend, like her father said, was just another term for business partner. ‘ _Nor loyal, apparently. That’s not a problem. For you, there’s still one more possibility._ ’

One, thought Pansy dully. He hadn’t even considered Gryffindor for her. Sure, she had about as much bravery as a newborn flobberworm, but it still stung. She straightened her shoulders automatically. Fine. Slytherin it was. No cunning, no ambitions, nothing but herself. Pansy would face the Dark Lord himself if she had to. 

‘ _Somehow, I think you would. Very well, there’s no other choice for you. It has to be GRYFFINDOR!_ ’

~

Harry didn’t notice the looks the Patil twins shot eachother, before Padma went to join Draco and Theo, and Parvati dragged Seamus by the ear to sit next to the newest lionness. He was too in awe. He was in Hogwarts! This was where his parents met, where his godmother trained, where he’d learn everything there was to learn about how to use his magic. He already had a goal in mind - he wanted to be the best he could at Potions. 

Mary was great at Transfiguration, Neville was warming up to Charms to compliment his Herbology, Draco lived and breathed History of Magic, and Hermione was the best at Arithmancy, Alchemy, and the few DADA spells Mary could be persuaded to teach them. Harry wanted, more than anything, to fit right in with his friends. He knew they loved him, he had never known anything else, but - well. He was the Boy Who Lived, he was being raised by his Godmother, and he was a future Lord. He wanted something that was just his. 

‘ _Some would call that Slytherin ambition, young man._ ’ came the Hat. Harry grinned a little, sending an enthusiastic greeting. Mary liked the Hat, so Harry did too. The thought of it combing through his head as concerning didn’t even truly cross his mind. Slytherin, though? He didn’t think he was cunning. ‘ _No, fawn, you aren’t. You don’t think like Rowena, either._ ‘

Is that a bad thing? Harry thought, almost instinctively. He liked the way he thought. It would be unfortunate if it wasn’t the Ravenclaw way, but it was his, and that was just fine by him. And what exactly did fawn mean? _’A very long time ago, another Potter thought some very similar things. He was a fawn, too,’_ said the hat, with something Harry recognised from the way Mary spoke to Augusta when they were talking about Neville’s parents. Oh. This was gentleness, because the hat considered him delicate. He stifled the flash of irritation. He wanted to be closer to his father, this other fawn, and the hat noticed. There was nothing wrong with that. The hat hummed an assent, finally speaking again. _’Much like Prongs before you, you aren’t hard to sort, little fawn. For you, it has to be HUFFLEPUFF!_ ’

Harry thanked the hat before passing it over to Ramirez, Quinn. They were following him to Hufflepuff before he could even reach the seats Daphne had saved for him, at the far end of the Hufflepuff table. No one was clapping, like they had for the Patils or even Parkinson. It was rather nice of them to understand that he didn’t like being the centre of attention, thought Harry, getting quickly distracted by a string of questions from his two friends. 

~

Minerva watched the sorting eagerly, quietly passing a sickle to Filius and collecting a handful of knuts from Pomona. The Herbology professor had assumed she’d be getting the new mister Weasley, but had been proven incorrect. More galleons than usual had to be exchanged that night. Severus was ending up unusually poor, with his crop of first years containing three muggleborns (Hermione Granger, Wayne Hopkins, and Sally-Anne Smith) as well as two half-bloods in Tracey Davis and Oliver Rivers. Several students that most of the staff assumed would be slytherin ended up in other houses- Malfoy and Nott wearing blue, neither Patil taking a green tie, not to mention Greengrass in yellow and Parkinson in gold. Minerva was pleased with her own crop. Although her favourite almost godchild wasn’t in her house, several of his friends were, along with the Moon girl and Finnegan. She would have to watch both, carefully, for incidents. 

Harry was practically glowing at the Hufflepuff table, sandwiched between Greengrass and Ramirez, with Lisa Turpin avidly listening from the other side of the table. She was glad his sorting worked out, at least. It had been the subject of more galleons won and lost amongst the staff than she had seen since the betting pool about James and Lily Potter had finished up. His godmother wasn’t visibly disappointed that he hadn’t ended up in her old house, as many parents were, either. In fact, she seemed just as pleased as anyone else present, even stuck between a glowering Snape and a fidgeting Trelawney. Severus looked remarkably well-maintained, for him, and Minerva got to watch the nanny adjust his collar in front of the entire assembly. The staff all put on an excellent facsimile of nonchalance, but he glowered all the same. 

Once Dumbledore had said his few words- nitwit, how applicable, Mary stood up. She didn’t say anything, simply stood at the podium and waited, with one hand on her umbrella. The hall slowly fell silent, with a fierce current of whispers among the Muggleborns that Minerva didn’t quite understand. They, more than most, were usually silent during the feasts. 

“Hello, students. I am Mary Poppins.” There was an instant uptick in the whispers, and her lips pursed. Minerva winced in sympathy with the recipients of that iron-willed glare. “I will field questions at the end. I am here to teach you to Defend yourselves, against the Dark Arts and anything else preventing you from living normal lives, as dictated by my curriculum.” 

Minerva would bet all the galleons she had just won that no one else noticed the wince before defence. Mary often ranted about how she had a mastery in defence, not defence against the dark arts. Still, she was certainly holding the attention of the crowd, and even more so when she took questions. 

“Was the film named after you, or were you named after the film?” Lee Jordan yelled from the Gryffindor table. 

“I’ve never heard of such a film, and even if I had, I’d hardly consider Walt’s version to be accurate to my life. He was a better liar than a historian. Next.”

“Have you ever been to Hogwarts before?” This was one of the exchange students from Ilvermorny, a second year Slytherin, that Minerva believed was called Kevin McAllister. 

“I once had tea with Salazar Slytherin in this room while Godric Gryffindor tried to keep Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff from duelling all over his begonias. As I recall, they were duelling over the last vial of Calming Draught at exam time. Next.”

This one caused a clamour to raise up, and Albus to look faintly purple. Mary waited until the clamour died down before she even deigned to look for the next question, one from pretty little Collette MacMahon, perched on the edge of her wheelchair at the foot of Ravenclaw table. “What house were you in?”

Mary Poppins clicked her tongue. “I’ve never sat under the hat, so I don’t suppose I know, even if I led one of them for half a century. Final question.”

The very last question came from the Hufflepuff table, and Hannah Abbott. “You knew my great grandmother, and apparently Salazar Slytherin. Forgive me, but how old are you, Miss Mary?”

Mary didn’t lose her smile, but she didn’t laugh. “That’s rather rude, Miss Abbott. One point from Hufflepuff.”

The hall looked to the great hourglasses of house points, all empty. As they watched, a single diamond fell into the hufflepuff hourglass, and was quickly pulled back up. Mary nodded as if this counted as a punishment. “Now, anyone that wishes to see what it means to master magic and use it for Defence may come to the edge of the forbidden forest tomorrow morning before breakfast. I’ll have a demonstration ready. Until then, eat up!”

She waved her hand, eyes twinkling like the headmaster she had just usurped. At her gesture the plates filled, with probably more vegetables than usual. Snapes plate, in particular, was practically buried in green, but the nanny tutted at his loud noise of disgust. “House pride, Severus,” she murmured, and pretended not to be proud of the disgruntled acceptance Severus munched through his meal with. 

Minerva watched Mary for one second more before turning to her own meal. There was a very particular expression on the governess’ face, and one that Minerva knew well. She called it “I’ll rule this place yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If saying something you believe in and know is unpopular to your entire school doesn’t show daring and nerve, what does? 
> 
> I’ve officialy listed names, backstories, and houses for all forty students in this year. World-building is fun.


	20. The one where Daphne adjusts to Hogwarts, and Hogwarts adjusts to Mary

Daphne Greengrass was feeling rather odd. She was sitting cross-legged in a textbook perfect meditation pose on a sunshine yellow cushion. The short wix that followed Harry down from the Sorting had latched on and was absolutely talking his ear off. She didn’t mind. She needed to think. 

Her new prefect was not, as she had expected, Cassiopeia Rosier. Instead, Head Girl Penelope Haywood provided them all with the complimentary stuffed badgers each Hufflepuff first year received, apparently, complementary of the departing seventh year’s. They weren’t alive, but some NEWT level charms work made them warm and capable of tiny noises. Apparently they were meant to be comforting, and adaptable to their owners. Daphne’s was giving her a distrustful look. 

Daphne didn’t blame the badger. She was so stiff looking that even Harry had noticed, shooting her looks in between his new roommate changing their hair colour. The hufflepuffs apparently drew straws to assign sleeping arrangements. Daphne was unsurprised, and unfortunately not lucky enough to end up with Harry. He was with the metamorphmagus and Finch-Fletchley, who was testing her patience in not calling him an utter prat to his face. 

He had tried to impress Harry with his surname the instantHaywood had left them alone. What lunacy! If Harry was likely to be impressed by that stuff, he’d be going after Daphne’s roommates, not bemusedly refusing Fletchley. They were just as bad, unfortunately. Anthony Goldstein had instantly become attached to Fletchley and Kevin Entwhistle was giving anyone trying to speak to him a distrustful glare from out beneath his absolutely _charming_ nest of green curls. Susan Bones seemed fine, but Daphne doubted that would stand the test of time. 

‘Hufflepuff,’ she wrote to her baby sister, ‘is certainly an experience. There is so much smiling I half thought the prefects put cheering charms on our celebratory badgers. Yes, Astoria, we have all been given transfigured badgers to keep. I have named mine Apollo, because I suppose I have no choice but to embrace the sunshine. The whole place drips with it.’

She lifted her quill to hear Harry positively squealing with laughter. Tiny Quinn Ramirez had become a four foot replica of Mary Poppins and was giving her best impression of the nanny, based on one meeting and Harry’s pointers. They even had mildly impressive props and Hannah Abbott assisting. Admittedly, she giggled through most of her lines, but she was clearly enjoying herself. Abbott caught Daphne’s eye and waved her over. Bones- no, Susan, she was polite and sharp enough to be considered Susan- rose instantly, dragging Daphne with her. Taking one last moment to write to Astoria, she scribbled:

‘I think I will like it here none the less, Astoria. It is’, she scrawled, taking so long to write that a drop of ink splashed onto her parchment. In the end, she simply finished with ‘utterly opposite to Slytherin’. 

~

After a long night in the semi-underground badger burrow, Daphne woke up refreshed. Even with Entwhistle looking like he wanted to punch Goldstein, the atmosphere was still calmer than most days at Greengrass Hall. Goldsteins kneazle had tried to eat one of the bowtruckles that Entwhistle had brought the moment they had selected beds. Susan defusing the situation had firmly earned her a place on Daphne’s short list of first name basis friends. 

The ginger and the blonde marched into the common room together, joining up with Harry and his pet metamorphmagus. Harry, bless his heart, seemed honestly confused about why Fletchley had been so horrid after the non-reaction of the night before. The two purebloods and the muggleborn shared a look of bemused acceptance as Harry dragged them upstairs to see Mary’s display. Ramirez displayed typical hufflepuff loyalty, Daphne thought as they reached the grass, but she quickly had to correct herself. If she was the mark of a hufflepuff, then Ramirez and Susan were going above and beyond. She tried to pretend that the smile on her face was about meeting the rest of their friends, nothing more. 

~

Mary waited until the flow of students out to the front lawn slowed to a trickle. Henry, in his typical subtlety, screeched out “Cor! Mary, I reckon you’ve ‘alf the school ‘ere!”

Mary surveyed the group, noting only a few startled expressions. Good. Learning how to adapt to craziness was essential, and one of the most important skills of Defence. “Well, it’s quite a good turn out for a simple demonstration. _Sonorus._ Good morning students!”

Several of them jumped at the noise. That wasn’t quite as good. Well, she had a year at the least to teach them. “Who thinks they have promise as a duellist?”

The crowd was silent for a moment, and then hands began to shoot up. Both Weasley twins- the younger Haywood sister- Cassius Warrington- Seamus Finnegan- Marcus Flint- she stopped taking volunteers after about ten. “That will do. Headmaster Dumbledore has not seen to provide me with accommodation, so I am making my own. My volunteers will try and hit me as I do so. I want to teach all of you about the value of unconventional defences. They may begin the second I have my shields raised.”

Mary noted with some hidden glee how shellshocked most of the crowd looked. She didn’t often showboat, as it was usually counter productive, but this would be fun. She floated Henry over to the Head Girl to watch, and flicked her wrist. A shimmering shield that glistened in the morning light rose in a dome over her head. She rolled around on the balls of her feet, wondering who would bite first. 

Finnegan, apparently. The young gryffindor sent a roaring wave of fire at the nanny. She cast an Expansion Charm at several pebbles at his feet, forming two of her walls and knocking him back a few paces without even moving an inch. Warrington next rounded the corner, sending a Tripping Jinx at her. That was easy to counter; transfiguring the twig he stepped over into a jungle cat was always effective. The lithe creature leapt into the air in one movement, swallowing the jinx and exploding, temporarily blinding Warrington. 

No time to relax. She heard some movement behind her. Beatrice Haywood flicked her wand, sending a powerful set of chains soaring through the air to bind her. It was a damn good charm, and with a bit of transfiguration, made a damn good front door and the wall around it. Design was all about feature walls, wasn’t it?

The Weasley twins had been out of the fight for too long, and Mary suddenly became aware of the hiss of whispered charms to her left. She had no time for fancy wandwork, summoning a shield charm. The spell bounced, hitting George dead in the chest and turning him into a man sized canary. Oh, they were a riot! A quick potion bomb turned her shield solid enough to make a third wall and block their retaliation, but now she was almost boxed in. 

A Ravenclaw with a prefects badge she didn’t recognise took advantage, lobbing something green through one of the windows. It unfurled into what had to be a clipping of Professor Sprouts Venomous Tentacula. Mary needed an escape, but she was reluctant to reveal her favourite trick. She reached instead for a groove in her stone wall and pulled herself up onto the edge. Muggle methods were just as useful. Two Calficying Charms gave her an interesting patterned floor and a staircase made from one tentacle that reached a little too high. 

However, now Finnegan was back at it again. If that boy wasn’t related to some sort of fire spirit, Mary clearly didn’t understand magic. The blast he sent at her now had almost Fiendfyre level of intelligence, appearing like running horses. She dove from the wall like she had wings, using a modified levitation charm to glide over the ground to a safe distance. An overpowered adaption of the basic _Aguamenti_ charm froze the flames, though, and she had a beautiful mural for her final wall. 

In dodging Finnegan, Mary had lost track of the rest of the group. Now Flint was behind her, charging with all the subtlety of a bull, and throwing a hailstorm of knives. The whistling through the air was satisfying for Flint, no doubt, but Mary rather liked the sudden thwack! as they turned to wooden beams and formed a nice roof. Who said alchemy wasn’t useful?

Finally, one of them made the first good decision all morning, summoning her wand. Now without her main duelling weapon, Mary had to carefully consider her options. She danced in a careful pattern, ducking and weaving the tightening circle of spells with a dancers grace. Most were merely stunners, and the rest were dodged by the other students. Good, theoretically, but worrying from a teaching standpoint. Then she stopped. Several of her combatants stopped too, even looking proud of themselves, but the Weasleys narrowed their eyes, backing up slowly. She was glad they had taken some of her lessons to heart. When she reached down to activate the rune she had drawn with her movements, they were the only ones out of range and unstunned. 

Now it was a two on one fight. Mary produced her secondary wand from her sleeve. Fred fired off a Jelly-Legs Jinx while George went for an _Avis_ charm, summoning a flock of tiny birds. It was an excellent attack, unfortunately mitigated by her dodge letting the Jinx hit George. She tried to avoid friendly fire, but the twins often fought together. This was a teaching moment. The birds were still a problem, but a Slowness potion soon fixed that. 

Fred eyed his brother, then the circle of other fighters still stuck to the ground by her runework, then to the wand in her hand. He gave a theatrical bow, and tossed her his wand. She released her spells and surveyed the house, purposefully tuning out the voices around her. She didn’t need to hear whispers about how “wicked!” she was for hiding her second wand, or theories about how she managed to mash alchemy and charms, potions and transfiguration, defence and runes. It was never as hard as it appeared from the outside. 

Her house, in the end, wouldn’t inspire any beauty awards. She tried to make her frozen shield charm have the same texture as the two expanded pebble walls, but it was hardly ideal. The flame horses, once moulded slightly were structurally sound, and her front door could probably stand up to an army. The roof was pretty, and she added some light thatch for heat. The furniture would probably have to be made the boring way. 

Realising the crowd hadn’t dispersed, she turned back around, retrieving Henry from the awed looking Head Girl. “What are you waiting for? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early and the longest chapter I’ve ever written to boot. Dumbledore is going to have a conniption. 
> 
> Next week: Slytherin


	21. The one where Hermione muddies an awful lot of waters

Hermione was incensed. Oh, not because of Slytherin. She actually rather liked the snake pit. The glamours surrounding the common room were slightly unnecessary, but definitely cool. She wanted to bring down Harry and Neville instantly to show off how, even if it might look damp and dreary to non-snakes, there were secretly plush couches and soft floating lights in pulsing, shifting colour. She was only a little put out that none of her close friends were with her. Blaise was about the only person she knew in the house, and he was always a little bit off. She would manage, though. She always did. 

Her new roommate, Isobel MacDougal, had glared at her for most of the evening. Even Blaise trying to reluctantly weigh in for her didn’t really change anything. Hermiones boundless enthusiasm at seeing the mermaids drift past the window did, however. Isobel (“don’t you dare call me Izzy”) eventually agreed to teach Hermione sign language if the muggleborn would leave her alone the rest of the time. She even smiled a little, at the end of the conversation. She immediately frowned afterwards, hissing something about the Slytherin code, but Hermione knew she had gotten through. 

Mildly irritating the muggleborn was her new list of research topics. When all the baby snakes reached their common room, Cassiopeia and Amphitrite Rosier began their prefect speech with a Fidelius Charm. Apparently, Slytherin secrets were to be kept. Hermione didn’t miss how they stared at her, Sally-Anne and Wayne whenever the values of the house were mentioned. She resisted the urge to grind her teeth. Cunning and ambition were hardly traits carried in your blood, after all. The last line of the speech brought her the most comfort, even with its pointed delivery. Apparently, all Slytherin conflicts had to be held in Slytherin spaces. They were to be a united front outside the common room, because everyone else was united against them. Hermione, when noting that in her letter home, made sure to add that it was rot. And if the other houses still acted that way, then it was up to Hermione to change their minds. 

So, all in all, Hermione could manage Slytherin. Isobel didn’t talk to her outside the common room and Blaise rarely chose to be the excellent and engaging company she knew he could be? Fine by her! She had friends in three houses, and it didn’t affect Hermione if the odd one out was the one where she slept. Standing between Parvati and Draco, however, her jaw absolutely dropped at the spectacle Mary was putting on. 

This was what was incensing her. She strode over to her Head of House to make a complaint. Surely Hogwarts staff weren’t meant to enable students flinging curses at eachother? Professor Snape was brooding, rather intently, but if she could walk right through Draco’s moods then she could definitely handle him. “Professor? Is Miss Mary allowed to do this? Couldn’t she hurt someone?”

Most other students, Hermione realised, would probably be cowed by the glare she was receiving. Although he didn’t seem like someone to be impressed often, she could see a glimmer of it in his eyes. Or maybe that was the reflection of her righteous anger. She couldn’t quite tell. “Miss Poppins will do what she thinks is best, Granger. See that you don’t bother me with such trivial matters again.” 

McGonagalls reaction was somehow even worse. Although her feathers looked a little ruffled as Hermione started, the second she heard Mary’s name she calmed right down. “Trust, Hermione. You mightn’t understand her, but you have to trust her.” 

‘This whole place is mad,’ thought Hermione. She couldn’t bring herself to find the glee of explorations either. It was just _mad_!

~

In first year defence, that morning, Hermione was livid. She felt electricity dancing under her skin, so fast that her hair was standing on end and her friends were giving her a wide berth. Harry was only one desk over, oblivious as usual, but even he was talking to Daphne rather than her. Good. She didn’t want to freak out Harry with whatever the hell this current of anger racing through her was. 

When Mary walked in, she was greeted with loud cheering. Seamus seemed positively enamoured with her, and even some of the more reclusive Ravenclaws were clapping their hearts out. The nanny curtsied. “Thank you, dears. I expect each of you to be just as capable by the time you’ve finished the Defence OWL.”

Hermione made a disbelieving choking noise. Mary raised an eyebrow, and her words started gushing out. “But Miss Mary! That was dangerous! Even if those upper years could’ve handled it - what if a spell rebounded? You had first years in there!”

Seamus, the only first year among the attacking group, flushed an ugly red. Mary crouched down beside Hermione. “Miss Granger. I am your Professor, and you should address me as such. I also learned my classroom safety charms from Helena Hufflepuff herself. Nevertheless, have two points to Slytherin for observation skills.” 

Blaise gave her an approving nod, but Hermiones vision was storming at the edges. “Some of the spells flying around were ones even Professor Snape didn’t recognise! Someone could have gotten killed, or worse!”

‘Or worse,’ came a dark and distant thought. ‘Expelled. Thrown out of Hogwarts.’ She knew her expression was stormy, at best. What she couldn’t see were the little arcs of magic dancing through her curls. 

Mary could, though, and she frowned deeply. She bent down in front of her desk in the ‘Slytherin’ portion of the room (she add that to the list of bloody irritating things, while she was at it) and looked into Hermiones eyes. “Miss Granger. Walk yourself up to the hospital wing, and ask Madame Pomfrey for one of my Calming Draughts, rather than the school stock. I’ll be up to you after the lesson.”

Mary stood up and began to lecture on shield charms. Hermione barely heard it. She jerkily walked out of the room, too deep in her fuming to notice the sound of someone else falling into step. “A pleasant morning for a walk, Hermione. There’s very little that can’t be solved with a stroll and a chat, I believe,” he said, blue eyes twinkling. 

~

Poppy Pomfrey had seen much in her life. The school was hectic, her wife had some true horror stories, and thats all without even mentioning the wild stories that circulate through every batch of Healer trainees. All being said, however, the stormy first year sitting at the edge of her desk was... unusual. 

The bushy hair had thick currents of electricity and light racing through, as steady as a pulse. The same was happening to her eyes, although it did appear to be slowing, thank Morgana. Poppy had left half her equipment swaddled in blankets in her haste to hide it from what she had considered a powerful nature spirit, at most. And yet! Hermione Granger was by all accounts perfectly muggleborn, not a hint of creature inheritance in sight. Something had to be causing the reactions, though. And Poppins’ Personal Calming Draughts, designed for the less than mundane and mortal students, had had quite an intense effect. She was certainly something. 

This wasn’t the first hopeless case she had seen in her tenure as a healer, though. Merlin knows, she didn’t refrain from the staff betting pool on Mary’s species due to “healers integrity” or to “spare her wife embarrassment”, or whatever other myriad of excuses she had thrown. No: she didn’t have a clue. 

Still, Hermione had calmed down eventually. She wasn’t even wearing the cuffs Poppy had provided to curb accidental magic. It eased Poppy’s fears to see how placid she appeared when the Professor was finally available to check in. Although, if there was one thing that certainly confused her, it was how positively eager the Slytherin seemed at the idea of another research project. Someone to watch, she scribbled, throwing the parchment and the file into the flickering green flames for Severus to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Hermione. This will certainly end in a bang. 
> 
> This ones a bit late, but at least it’s here! Comments make my day, and theories are super fun to reply to. What’s Hermione up to?


	22. The one where Draco misses the point of defensive magic entirely, but on the bright side, certainly made an impression

Draco’s adjustment period was significantly shorter than most of his friends’. Ravenclaw and Slytherin, fundamentally, were not as different as Slytherin and say, Hufflepuff. The idle realisation that he couldn’t insult the badger house now that it contained several good friends caused more of a stir than his new sorting. 

He was rooming with a fellow pureblood, Collette McMahon, who seemed to have rather annoying tremors whenever he was trying to concentrate but was otherwise unremarkable. Ravenclaw apparently believed that the tallest tower should be filled up with heaps upon heaps of semi private rooms, rather than containing any sort of logical dormitory system. And yet the chaos was nice. It reminded him of Molly Weasley, who wasn’t as insufferable once she had a goal to focus on that was not smothering him, and his own mother, whenever Father was in France on business. Theo was less fortunate, sharing his sky blue room and study with Terry Boot. Boot seemed unusually desperate to make a good impression on the influx of Pureblooded Eagles. It left a bad taste in Draco’s mouth, and led to his cohorts in cleverness to band together in trying to avoid him. Yes, even if that meant sitting in the Gryffindor half of History of Magic. 

Draco was bitterly disappointed when Binns was exactly as boring as everyone had always said he was. He found Goblin Wars enjoyably complex, undeniably influential, and yet they were left about as interesting as watching a Nargle nap. Seamus Finnegan and his gift of two pairs of muggle earbuds each made all the difference. Binns could drone for the whole class, and Draco would hear none of it, safely ensconced in his own copy of _Daedalus and Deeper: the Noble Art of Runes, before they were Ancient_. He’d draw up his own study plan, of course, but that was best done with his friends, so he could timetable sessions when they were all free. Far less material for him to reteach that way. 

Binns’ negligence also ensured the crop of lions and eagles were much earlier to Defence than the snakes and badgers forced to climb up to the castle from Herbology. As such, they had a perfect view to see Hermione fume. Bother, thought Draco, exchanging an alarmed look with Blaise, who gave an equally alarmed minute shrug. From him, that was almost a shriek of alarm. Draco shifted in his seat, preparing to slip out under the guise of a bathroom break (undignified, but necessary) when Mary intervened. 

“Miss Granger is going to the hospital wing, and you may visit her after class. We will be learning shield charms today, not gossiping, thank you.” She slid down from her perch on the desk, readjusting her precarious hat, and conjured a handful of shields glistening in different colours. 

Draco made for an escape anyway. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Mister Malfoy. Would it reassure you if Miss Granger was not alone?”

If Draco’s glare didn’t melt the flagstone at her feet, the ruby red heat from his cheeks certainly would. He jutted out his chin mutinously. “Yes, Professor.”

The Professor gestured to her umbrella, who made the most piercing whistle Draco had ever heard, the unholy love child of the Hogwarts Express and a banshee who’s toes had just been stepped on. It certainly attracted attention. “Students: homework tonight will be a piece on your favourite piece of defensive magic from today and why you liked it. At least a foot. This spell, should you choose it, would be an interesting option. _Expecto Patronum!_

The glittering swan had tints of ivory and crystal in its silver mist. It glided out the door without a care in the world, and Draco returned to his seat. Most unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson had slipped in to Theo’s spot. She had a sickly sweet grin on her pug-like face. “What’s wrong, Draco? That sorry excuse for a snake make you sick with her stench before she ran off?”

Draco felt his fingers tighten around his wand without his command. Pansy, wisely for once in her life, had inched back at the storm clouds gathering on his face. “My name is Malfoy to you, Parkinson, and you’d do better to remember that than to sling insults at Hermione. She’s twice the witch you are!”

“And yet she bailed out after two classes,” hissed Pansy. She had turned an ugly shade of marble pale, turning her confusion to anger the way only a Gryffindor could. “Why? Not used to hard work, is she? Bet she’d never even seen a Shield Charm before today. Hope someone teaches her to put one up around her bed.”

The smirk on Pansys face was sinister in the way only the thoughtlessly cruel could be. Draco was all too familiar - it was an expression Father and several of his friends wore all too often. He fired back in Fathers favourite manner without really thinking about it. “Mother taught Hermione Shield Charms with the rest of my friends, Parkinson, during the usual lessons for youth with potential.” The rage on Pansys face turned to sadness for half a second, but he seized on it. “She must have... forgotten your invitation.”

Parkinson’s clawed fingers (nails painted red and gold with a steady hand that could only belong to a Patil sister) dug into his arm. “Draco, you can’t mean that. You can’t prefer that little mudblood to me!”

Draco prided himself on decorum. This whole conversation was merely whispers, insinuations, a careful dance not to push too far. However, despite not being any sort of Hufflepuff, Draco knew loyalty. He knew what Crabbe and Goyle were taught, what Parkinson was taught, what every poncy git of a Pureblood without a Narcissa Black to stand for them was taught. He was lucky to escape it. He was therefore loyal, permanently, to the boy that let Draco Malfoy be Draco, for the first time, instead of Malfoy. And being loyal to Harry and the family he built meant defending every member of that family. Especially the ones he considered himself equal to and friends with. 

So, perhaps, it is understandable why Draco chose to forego all of his decorum and even his magic to punch Pansy Parkinson square in the nose. 

The next few moments unravelled like a tableau. Pansy, bleeding, leaning back into the arms of someone - Ron? - as she tried to stem the flow. Theo, not a single feather ruffled, pulling his arms behind his back and hissing about a lack of warning. Mary Poppins, towering over the both of them, a purse to her lips as she gave a deep sigh, and said one word: “detention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks 25,000 words (somehow) and 6k kudos, so I just want to thank yall. Comments are half the reason I manage to write the next chapter for this monster of a project, and I love reading your thoughts <3


	23. The one where Pansy spends an entire chapter making the surprised pikachu face

Pureblood mothers did not often waste time with sentiment. Sentiment got in the way of plots, of plans lying in wait for generations, of the backstabbing and intrigue most of them live and breathe. It’s considered quaint, almost disturbing, how mundanely kind Narcissa Malfoy is with her little boy. Certainly, Mariana Parkinson had little time for such nonsense. 

Still, if there was one lesson Lady Parkinson had made sure to impart on her daughter, it was that life went on, with or without you. Pansy didn’t know how, exactly, she was meant to react to all these new circumstances, but she’d manage. She always did. 

She was the first one up to the Gryffindor girls dorms, that first night. She settled in on the bed farthest from the door automatically: if they wanted to gang up on her, it was better to have the whole room in her sights than be closest to the door. Not when no one outside would help either. She set up Shield Charms without really thinking about it, the one Light spell she could do effortlessly. That done, Pansy allowed herself to breathe. 

She reached for a polish bottle instinctively, letting the acidic smell curdle the air around her bed and picking up the brush with one unsteady hand. Muggles had nail polish too, apparently, but theirs didn’t change colour to show how much danger you were in, or always matched the shade of your robes, or come with butterflies that could fly out of the paint if you felt suitably upset. Pansy watched one wing lazily try and lift off the paint before it had even dried properly, and made a terribly unladylike squeak, dropping the bottle all over her covers. 

Of course that was when her roommates walked in. Pansy sat up ramrod straight on instinct, inclining her head to the two she recognised - Lavender and Parvati. Lavender inclined her head back, already rapt in a conversation with a plump girl that Pansy decidedly didn’t recognise bearing the thickest Irish accent she had ever heard. Parvati took another moment to observe before smiling. “Did you get that new polish Witch Weekly’s raving about, Pansy? Babi couldn’t get a bottle before term started, but it looked cool.”

Pansy blinked. That was... much kinder than she was expecting in Slytherin, much less the enemy territory of Gryffindor. She fixed a smile to her face so quickly she knew in her bones it looked false. Neither Parvati nor the pale girl next to her (apparently called Lily Moon) commented, though. It became less and less a chore to keep it fixed as the night wound on. 

Lily took Pansys other hand while she sorted through her make up bag to find Witch Weeklys newest bottle. The mudblood (Rhiannon Anderson, whose family were greengrocers) made squeaks of appreciation at each and every one, which the girls all giggle at- but Rhiannon gives as good as she gets, and soon all five of them are in stitches. Pansy doesn’t dare to hope, not yet, but the thoughts of friendship are there without her permission. 

The following morning, Parvati and Lavender go down to breakfast together, Rhiannon at their heels. Lily waits, though, and captures Pansys attention with a discussion on the pros and cons of dark magic, of all things. In return for a quick lesson on how to braid back her inky black locks, Pansy is brought over to Terry Boot and Tracey Davis for a riveting breakfast discussion about the benefits of learning the forgotten parts of magic. 

After a week of this, she tries to work her way back into Draco’s circle. They had a tentative engagement, as children, which meant something. She wasn’t sure what, but it was something. And he was close with the filth, now, so he was clearly starved for true companionship. (She didn’t think about how Lily had a static picture ripped from a muggle children’s book, next to her Fathers wizarding portrait and her copy of Beating the Banshee.)

Then he hit her, and her worldview shattered. 

She stumbled back. Lily made a strangled scream, standing right next to Pansy but too frozen to catch her. Instead, it’s Ron Weasley who lowers Pansy delicately to the ground while Lily hissed healing spells that sound suspiciously like dark magic, blood magic, forgotten and forbidden magic. By the time Professor Poppins came over, Pansys cheeks were redder than her no longer broken nose. The robes were a lost cause, however. “May I go back to the tower and change, Professor?”

Poppins stared at Pansy for a moment before sighing. “Yes, Parkinson. Take... Weasley with you, and be on time for Charms.” 

Weasley made a coughing sound that is suspiciously similar to a whine. For all Pansys truce with her own dorm mates, it hadn’t yet reached across the divide. Weasley dragged his feet all the way out, far enough behind Pansy that he probably figured she couldn’t hear him tell Steven Cornfoot he regretted catching her fall. 

She did, though, and she stared at her nails the whole walk up to the tower. She had put on the danger sensing one this morning. It was fading, now more a Weasley orange than a burning red. “You alright, Pansy?” Said Ron, once he caught up. 

“...I’ve had worse,” she replied. When that only made Ron look curious, she cast around for the first topic she could. “Saw you play chess with Thomas the other day. Are you good, or is he crap?”

Startling a snort out of a blood traitor shouldn’t be a highlight of anyone’s day, much less a Parkinson. “Bit of both, I think. Deans set is new, but I’m good enough. Mostly play against my brothers.”

Pansy cocked her head. She could do with less hostility from the boys dorm, and honestly, she liked chess. It was intellectual enough to get her out of the library, but interesting enough to keep her there. “If you want a real challenge, my pieces were made for me on my eighth birthday, and I rarely lose.”

Ron’s ears went red even as she began to climb the stairs to her dorm. “Is that a challenge, Panz?”

Pansy grinned her best, most charming grin. “The armchairs by the noticeboard at eight, Ronald?”

“Deal!”  
“Deal.”

Ron beats her, narrowly. She trounces him the day after when he gets cocky. He joins her at breakfast, sometimes, but mostly goes to the same group as the first day. Terry adopts more strays in the form of Crabbe and Goyle, although Lily seems more fond of the Slytherin Mudblood, Sophie Whatever-Her-Name-Is. It takes her an embarrassingly long time (almost a month) to realise that Terry was raised Muggle. She watches him, after he jokes about something called electricity. He can be a bit of an ass, sure, but he’s clever. Kind, kinder than any of the Purebloods she had grown up with and been abandoned by. And Lily laughs too, a little, and Tracey gives a nervous giggle, and she realises: the people kindest to her were the mudbloods and the filth. 

‘Well’, she thinks, ‘they haven’t done wrong by me yet. I’ll steer them the right way, the Old way. Mother will be proud.’ Pansy didn’t believe in the strict sense of justice that some lions did. Even if she wasn’t ambitious enough for Slytherin, she could play the long game and observe. She resolutely devoted herself to this motive, for all its shaky basis in reality. 

Pansy spent her first two months at Hogwarts adjusting, and watching people. In the library, furiously researching the tactic Ron used to beat her in such and such a game, she often saw Hermione Granger. Pansy always made a point to nod to her (potential ally, her mind whispered, she could join your circle) but Hermione didn’t always nod back. She must be some student, to look that stressed in first year. At least she was handling Slytherin well. 

When Pansy wasn’t discussing the Old Ways with her growing circle of influential wix without influential parents, for that’s all her quote unquote friends were, really, she watched the houses. She was confused at how easily Slytherin seemed to accept the three mudbloods in its ranks. (Should she start calling them Muggleborns? Terry looked upset, when the slur slipped out...) Admittedly, Hermione was under the tutelage of two professors and Sophie was in Pansys circle, but still. 

She watched Hufflepuff grow closer, with Harry at its centre, Ramirez at his side, Abbott as a disarmingly charming watchdog and the unexpectedly synchronised Bones-Greengrass duo forming a silently intimidating rearguard. The rotating cast of other house members raised quite a few eyebrows, but by October and a combination of intimidation and kindness, it had simply become the way it was. Hufflepuff loyalty, she supposed. Pansys circle held only two Hufflepuffs, and even Anthony and Lisa were reluctant to cross Harrys badgers. Apparently loyalty could be fierce, if used right. 

She snuck in to Ravenclaw tower frequently, saw that Malfoy (not Draco anymore. Just Malfoy) and Nott were friendly with their Housemates but Terry was the powerhouse. She shoved down the aches of spite and pride that ran through her whenever she saw Malfoy, focusing on Terry. She felt a burst of pride at the thought of him ruling the roost. Her friend- ally, dammit!- was doing better than she could’ve dreamed. 

Gryffindor politics became easier to manage each passing week. She and Ron threw barbs as easily as chess tactics, but it was normal. She wasn’t likely to hang out in the common room, mind, but she could have been doing a lot worse. Even with the weird way Professor Poppins sometimes looked at her, Lily, Terry and the rest.

Pansy stared at her nail polish, the red-purple of a bruise, and went to go join the Halloween feast with a smile on her face and people at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! With my state exams in June and the final game of thrones season, I’m afraid I haven’t had nearly enough time to write this. Nonetheless, this story is very much not abandoned. I think I’ve finally worked out the pacing, too.
> 
> This chapter has a decently large timeskip - next update will be Halloween and feature actual canon plot points, plus a familiar POV.


	24. The one where Harry has an even worse Halloween then usual

Harry loved potions. Always had, really. From the first time he tottered over to Marys cauldron clutching a handful of dove feathers for a Draught of Peace, all the way up to now. All his friends had favoured areas of study; his came with funny smells and beautiful bright colours. He got his first cauldron when he was eight years old, and even then, if Mary hadn’t forbidden it until he was taller, it might have been the very second thing he ever asked her for, after his broom. He had helped Neville develop a begrudging appreciation for it, last Summer, and there was absolutely nothing better than brewing with a good friend on your left and your snake on the right. The only thing that even came close was the warm feeling of knowing his Mum liked potions, too.

His Mum was part of the reason Harry was struggling so much with the Potions class of the day, in fact. Fred had pulled him aside at breakfast to say that Snape was always a bit testier on Halloween, and that he and his friends had to be on good behaviour. Harry had reluctantly banished Medusa back to the Hufflepuff dorms to cuddle with his badger. In trying to appease Snape, though, Harry felt his own mood darken. Draco at his side was silent, watching the cauldron with sharp eyes to ensure Harry didn’t nearly ruin the whole thing, _again_ , by being careless. Although careless, perhaps, wasn’t the best term.

Harry had never celebrated Halloween, not once, but not from a lack of effort on his Godmothers part. It always made him feel strange, to celebrate the day his parents died. For him. Why would they do that? He was just Harry. 

Just Harry abruptly felt a stab of pain in his thumb and hissed, reflexively, murmuring a string of not-very-polite words in Parseltongue, although he had mastered the art of making it sound perfectly mundane to the other occupants of the room. (It was his favourite trick, only somewhat dampened by Medusa frequently going to Mary and telling her anyway.) He stared at the blood somewhat in shock, having never injured himself in a Potions lab before. Only a second behind, another new thing for Harry: Professor Snape himself. Apparently deciding that ignoring Harry could only work for so long, the Dungeon Bat swept over to Harry and Dracos’ desk before Draco could clean up the mess. 

“Potter,” he said, in a funny, flat tone, that reminded Harry of nothing more than Medusa when she was staring down Nevilles’ frog, forbidden from eating it despite desperately wanting to. “Why have you decided to get blood all over your silver knife and my lacewing flies?”

“I didn’t decide anything, Professor,” replied Harry, in a petulant tone that made Draco wince.

“Did the knife fly into your thumb, then, Potter? Are there ghosts in this room, hiding from us all, trying to hurt you and my patience?” Snape spat out his name like it was a dirty word. Harry desperately tried to imagine that he was brewing alone in the cottage, or that he was in Poppins Manor, or even that class was over and he was sitting at the Halloween Feast trying to feel like there were no rocks in his stomach. Snape was still there though, still staring at him with black, blank eyes. 

“Answer me, Potter! Unless,” said Snape, in a new tone, one that held contemplation on the surface and malice underneath, “unless that idiot father of yours passed on his distaste for authority with his ridiculous hair-”

That was Harrys breaking point. Maybe a different child would have roared at Snape, or spit at him, but Harry felt small, and his thumb was aching fiercely by now, and his parents were dead, and he just wanted Medusa and Mary and _home_. “My father,” he said, in a tone so quiet that the cauldron bubbling nearly overpowered it, “was a hero.”

Anything he or Snape would have said after was promptly lost as tears began to pour from his eyes. Harry turned tail and ran, oblivious to the clamour behind him.

~

Draco sat, after Potions, at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall. It had become a tradition, at least on their year, to move about as the mood struck them. Harry had asked that they sit with him today, in that mousey voice he always adopted around Halloween, and all his friends had obliged. Draco had already arranged the same for next month, on the Longbottoms’ anniversary, and had several history books open in his dorm searching for the precise date the Bones family was massacred, so they could be there for Susan, although he hadn’t known her nearly as long. There was only one problem:

Harry was nowhere to be found.

Tiny Quinn Ramirez confirmed that he hadn’t, at least to their knowledge, gone back to the dorms after Potions, but that Medusa was missing, so at least he wasn’t alone, wherever he was. He hadn’t turned up in anyone other dorm, either, which worried Draco a great deal more than Harry avoiding the Hufflepuffs. Everyone needed some time away from Hufflepuffs sometimes, in Dracos’ opinion.

“We should go look for him,” said Neville, suddenly. “Ask Pince if she saw him in the library, check his favourite places, see if McGonagall has a Finding People spell, that sort of thing.”

“Pince has the library shut,” said Hermione, speaking up for the first time in a decidedly sulky tone. “And if we tell McGonagall, she’ll tell Mary, and then the cat will really be among the canaries.”

“Do you have a better plan, then?” shot back Neville. Draco damned his growing Gryffindor confidence, quickly seeing a row brewing between loyal and worried Neville and generally worrisome Hermione. She had the look of someone who hadn’t slept in several months, and was just beginning to notice how terrible an idea it was. The rest of their friends were paying far too close attention to Dumbledores’ speech for it to be anything but fake. I mean, who really cares about a teaching inspection, of all things? Quirell and his stupid purple turban mattered much less than finding Harry before trouble did. With great reluctance, Draco waded in.

“We’re all worried about Harry. Neville, your idea is sound. You, me and Hermione will go look for him. Hermione, you’re right too, we can’t get McGonagall involved. I think I have a spell to locate lost pets. We can use, Father loses track of the peacocks all the time. We’ll find Medusa, have her bring us to Harry, and be back on time to get treacle tart. Susan, Daphne, distract the teachers if they notice we’re gone. Theo, Blaise, you two manage Mary if she starts to worry.” Draco tried to project the sort of ineffable confidence Father used on uncooperative business partners. It seemed to work; everyone looked both mutinous and resigned, just as they did when Lucius did it. 

The trio slipped out of the Hall and followed Dracos’ spell up the stairs in thick silence. Not from a lack of trying on Nevilles’ part. He cheerfully tried to banter with Hermione about some mishap in charms, or to discuss Binns’ abysmal teaching with Draco. But Draco was far too concentrated on maintaining the tracking spell and Hermione had been moving about in a storm cloud for weeks now, so the silence reigned.

They found Medusa curled around Harry in an abandoned bathroom on the Second Floor. Hermiones whispers named it Moaning Myrtles’ bathroom, permanently out of order due to an angst filled ghost, and Dracos’ secondhand knowledge from Father revealed that Myrtle was Myrtle Warren, an ex-Hogwarts student haunting the place she died. An all together cheerful place to visit on All Souls Eve, then.

Draco crouched over by Harry, with Hermione on his other side. “You know, if you didn’t want to go to the feast, you could have said. We would have stayed in the dormitories with you.”

Harry sniffed, pulling himself up into more of a sitting position. Medusa slithered out to accompany Neville by the door. Harrys eyes were still red when he spoke. “I thought I could handle it. Professor Snape was just a bit too much.”

“You’re allowed be overwhelmed,” said Hermione, shocking Draco a little bit. She hadn’t really spoken to any of them recently, and her voice wavered. “Hogwarts is so different, and today was bound to be a hard day. I’m sure- I’m sure it’ll pass,” she finished, somewhat lamely. Harry looked decidedly more cheerful anyway, and took Dracos’ hand to pull himself up.

“You’re right. Thank you, both of you. We should head back.” Draco nodded, beginning to explain why the search party wasn’t everyone, when Neville scrambled backwards into the room followed by a streak of scales known as Medusa. This of itself was odd, because Neville had refused to enter a girls loo only minutes before, but he was also as pale as Myrtle herself, and stammering out words. He was interrupted by a roar from just outside. It was Harry who spoke the word, after a frantic bit of hissing and a beat of shocked silence. “Troll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for some super nice comments on the last one. I'm back, and updates should be a bit more frequent now.


	25. The one where not a single person has a good time, not even the side characters, but the author has fun.

They all stared at each other for a heartbeat. ‘We’re going to die,’ thought Hermione. ‘We’re going to die and I haven’t even found out how to come back as a ghost yet.’

It seemed the others were having similar thoughts. Draco was running his fingers through his hair frantically, and Neville’s tiny little moans he kept trying to muffle were worse again. Only Harry was perfectly still, biting his lip and trying to think. Well, Harry and the ghost. 

“A troll? I’m not a troll!” Moaning Myrtle was hovering above them, doing a greater job of looking scary than one would think of a perpetually teenage girl. If Hermione hadn’t been focused on the actual, living and breathing troll outside the door aiming to stop all of them living or breathing, it may have even bothered her. As it was, the squeaking was just distracting as she prattled on and on, “I’ve half a mind to flood the pipes and-“

“That’s it!” Harry finally moved, startling even Myrtle away from her budding rage. “Myrtle, if you live in the pipes, surely you can get an itty bitty snake through them?”

Myrtles chest puffed up like a balloon. Hermione promised herself if they ever got out of this, she would research _everything_ she could on ghosts. “Of course I can! What do you take me for, some kind of poltergeist? Anywhere in the castle, I can get her. I just can’t follow her too far.”

Harry barely seemed to notice the sudden tinge of sadness on the ghosts’ voice. He was staring at the snake now, a touch of Parseltongue on his voice. He was too distracted to even notice. “Okay. Take Medussa, get her as closssse to the Great Hall as you can. Godmum will know to follow her.”

“There-there- the teachers are being inspected,” said Neville, overcoming his greyish tinge. “Following a sna-snake around won’t be good for her ranking.”

Harry looked stumped for a couple seconds, and from the fog of Hermiones’ brain a fact emerged. “Blaise Zabini knows Parseltongue. Just a little.”

Neville looked stunned. Admittedly, so did Draco, who couldn’t really believe his friend kept up trying to learn an unlearnable language. “Why’d he bother?” 

“Lady Zabini considers it useful.” and “Slytherin pride,” said Draco and Hermione immediately, their voices overlapping and both giving the other a doubting look. Harry just waved his hands in the air, a frantic ‘don’t care’ motion, before hissing something at the snake, who disappeared with Myrtle. 

“Right,” said Harry, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Now we fight a troll.”

There was no time to plan. The room hadn’t lost its ghostly cold when the door caved inwards. Splinters flew through the air, leaving ghastly gashes down Hermiones’ arms, Draco’s cloak, and the flickering shield Neville had drawn around himself and Harry. 

“How did you manage that?” She demanded breathlessly, but there was no time. The troll roared, making a swing for the two humans hurt the least. Tiles cracked and flew inches from their heads. Neville ducked to his knees and tried to crawl away. It shouldn’t have worked, but the troll was rather distracted. Harry Potter, in all his loyal, brilliant lunacy, had shoved himself in the path of harms way. He shot silver sparks at the troll, the first spell on his wand, the tickling charm Bert had taught them. It’s only effect was to make the beast angry. 

As Medusa reached the edge of Mrytles’ range and slithered in to the Entrance Hall, her master was swept up in the creatures meaty grip with a sickening crack. Harry let loose one big gasp of air as he was lifted off his feet. The trolls open-mawed smile was awful. The scent of decay and putrid meat made Harry too nauseous to even think straight. Everyone knew what was to come next. Until, all of a second, Hermione lunged towards a loose section of pipe. She swung it at the back of trolls knees with all her might. 

The effect was immediate. The creature screamed in pain and released its grip- and Harry fell. Hermione felt her face arrange itself into a mask of horror. A heartbeat before he hit the floor, Neville shouted some garbled half Latin she couldn’t quite here. A cushion materialised beneath Harry with a whoosh. Draco hissed a healing spell and the four regrouped. Only now, they faced the troll angry. 

“Do you know that spell we learned last week,” whispered Draco. “With Flitwick, the levitation charm?”

“I could barely lift a trunk by the end of the lesson!” Neville was shaking his head empathically, but Hermiones’ expression was thoughtful. 

“Four of us, and we only need to keep him in the air for a few minutes...”

“Or just sneak out underneath,” said Harry, slowly. He didn’t seem quite alright yet. His breathing came ragged and his eyes were flitting over the room too rapidly, not able to settle. But he was alive, which was more than they could promise if they didn’t do something soon. 

As Blaise Zabini finished hissing at the snake hiding under his sausages and started racing for the staff table, four first years stood in a battered semi circle in a flooded bathroom. They roared the incantation, the noise of it loud enough to startle their target. Slowly, inch by inch, it began to float. The troll started, it’s club slipping out of its grip. When the Professors in the corridor heard that deafening thwack! they began to sprint. 

“Harry, you first,” said Neville. “You’re still hurt.”

With great reluctance, Harry moved to the trolls other side. It was floating above the sinks, in the centre of the bathroom, between the remaining trio and the door. Hermione went next. Then Neville. The four wands were shaking, now, the spell never designed to hold such weight. The troll began to shift, to sag, to roll within arms reach of Draco and reach out his fist, the same one that had nearly crushed Harry. 

“Incendio!”  
“Impedimenta!”  
“Stupefy!” 

In the entirety of Hogwarts’ long and colourful history, never had there been a time when the shout of a Professor was more welcomed by three first years. Draco let out a moan as the fist slacked, not even from his robes. The last of Harry’s strength left him, and he leaned up against the wall in an excellent facsimile of a corpse. Neville began to laugh, shakily, and Hermione squinted to make out the faces of their saviours in the gloom and dust. 

Mary Poppins stood tall, if not proud, immediately rushing to her godson and hissing healing spells that Hermione felt were probably illegal, judging by McGonagalls eye roll. She had a certain face for when she was too exhausted to worry about mischief. Snape was there too, with a clink to his robes that suggested many goals of potions. Indeed, he pulled out two vials of bright and pale blue, handing the first to Neville and the second to Draco. Maybe Harry could identify them, but Hermione only knew that they weren’t in the first or second year curriculums (she hadn’t had time to fully memorise the third, yet). 

The other Heads of House weren’t present. Presumably, someone had to stay with the rest of the students in the Great Hall. The Professors group was rounded out by Dumbledore himself and the inspector, Quirrell, complete with a sickly green quill, parchment, and an unfortunate gleam in his eye. “What is the meaning of this?” 

Mary was rather preoccupied in tucking a shock blanket around her charges, and didn’t even look up to glare at him directly. “Give my godson time to rest before you bite his head off, Quirinus, please.”

Quirrell huffed, and seemed to be gearing up to start an argument with the nanny. McGonagall coughed, pointedly, before daggers could be summoned. “My office is closest. We can discuss this after ginger newts and tea,” she said, with a certain amount of reluctance. 

“An excellent idea! Lead on, then. I simply must deal with our misplaced friend here before I join you,” said Dumbledore, rolling up the sleeves on his robes. Hermione wondered why he bothered. Troll blood, in her opinion, could only make the damned things look better. 

~

Tea and biscuits were a rather surreal experience. Hermione, Draco, Neville and Harry were all bundled up in muggle shock blankets on a squishy tartan couch. Quirrell had swept in and immediately stolen the single seat behind McGonagalls’ desk, and from the other side the Scotswoman looked ready to shred his entire wardrobe if he didn’t move soon. Mary had the miraculous ability to look at home anywhere, including perched on the edge of the overflowing couch with her charges. She was knitting another scarf, although her needles were clacking together with a harsh noise, like she was trying not to yell. Snape was sitting on a chaise lounge in a back corner, with cat fur on his black robes, staring at the ceiling as if to beseech some god to rescue him. Hermione saw him chug one of those turquoise potions when he thought no one was looking. 

Quirrell adjusted himself and waited for silence. When it didn’t come, he rapped his knuckles on the desk. Hermione gave it a week before someone tried to poison him. As he spoke, his eyebrows receded further and further up into his hairline. “Do you mean to tell the ministry that students are allowed wander where they like in this castle, and trolls may find them there?”

McGonagall was in no mood to humour him, keeping her voice cool and her words curt. “You’re hardly criticising a student for using the facilities, Quirinus.” 

“Well, no, but still, certain things must be considered.” Quirrell frowned at McGonagall, but quickly tried for a more soothing expression. If anything, it annoyed the professor more. “Why not have them closer to the hall, just in case? The ministry feels-“

“If the ministry feels like Harry Potter does not deserve a moments peace on All Hallows’ Eve, then I will have to have words with the ministry myself, and that didn’t work out well for them last time.” Mary didn’t even bother looking at Quirrell. She was elbow deep in her carpet bag, hunting for a second set of knitting needles so Neville and Draco could help her. She glanced up for only a second to glare daggers at Quirrell, but even that was enough to make him look away. Draco smirked. 

Quirrell was scrambling now, trying to regain some semblance of control of the tiny office. “And where, exactly, did you get your teaching degree, Mary?”

Mary shrugged. “Where did Snape? Where did Trelawney, for that matter? The original school vaults have records from my first teaching days, you know, and my mastery was earned under Salazar himself.” She paused, as though the argument was done, then started with a laugh. “I believe I was entitled to a pension, you know. That must be a lot of backpay.”

The children, who really had been making an effort up to this point to not be noticed, chose that moment to make eye contact and broke into exhausted laughter. Professor Snape eyed them as if the noise personally pained him, then stood up. “If we are quite done here, three of these students were administered a Draught of Peace. They need rest, and soon. If I am as substandard a potioneer as you seem to believe, they need it even more so.” He spit out the words in his best, most icy voice, then put a claw like hand on the shoulders of the nearest pair. “I shall escort Draco and Miss Granger to their dormitories.”

Quirrell huffed, but waved him off with what he probably considered a witty comeback. “Do you only care about snakes and snakelings, Severus?”

“I care,” said Snape, gliding over to Quirrell without appearing to take steps and looming over the short Inspector, “for those that have potential, and for _my_ students, and for the children of my closest friends. As I always have. Are we quite done here?”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, returning from the bathroom at last with a distinctly barbecued smell to his robes and a frown on his face seeing the conversation so clearly closed. Only one person in the room would tell him what had gone on. Those were not good odds for anyone, even Albus Dumbledore. “I believe we have all trampled on Minervas hospitality enough.”

“I think these four would like to stay in my suite for the night,” said Mary, hopping up in an instant and tucking her knitting away. “All Hallows’ Eve isn’t a good night to be alone, and it’s quite a trek to some of the dorms, Albus. Not to mention the rumours no doubt swirling- it would be quite exhausting to deal with, in the state they are now. I’ll deliver them to the Great Hall after we’ve done our Samhain breakfast in the morning.” Without waiting for permission or, indeed, waiting long enough for anyone else to speak, Mary bundled up her charges, summoned a lantern, and went off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draughts of Peace and Calming Draughts are both blue, but the first is closer to turquoise.
> 
> God bless the children for mediocre planning but A+ improvisation
> 
> Also, the longest chapter so far. Consider it a gift for 8000 hits (!!!!!)


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